by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Sep 10, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 4 minutesThey had been engaged for three months when she finally asked to see his credit card statement, and the number surprised them both, not because it was catastrophic, but because neither of them had ever actually said it out loud. He had a car payment she didn’t know about. She had student loans he’d guessed at but never confirmed. They had talked about the wedding venue for hours. They had never once talked about what their combined bank account would actually look like six months into marriage.
Money is one of the most avoided conversations in engagement, not because couples don’t care about it, but because it feels less romantic than almost anything else on the premarital checklist, easier to postpone in favor of picking flowers or tasting cake. Jesus, however, was not shy about connecting spiritual seriousness to financial honesty. In Luke 14, he’s speaking to large crowds following him, warning them that discipleship requires counting the real cost before committing, using an illustration anyone in his audience would understand.
“For which of you, desiring to build a tower, doesn’t first sit down and count the cost, to see if he has enough to complete it?” (Luke 14:28, WEB)
Jesus isn’t primarily talking about marriage here, he’s talking about the cost of following him. But the principle he uses translates directly into how a couple should approach the financial reality of building a life together. He describes a builder who sits down deliberately, does the math honestly, and only then begins construction. The alternative, he says a few verses later, is a builder who starts the foundation, runs out of resources partway through, and becomes a public example of poor planning. Nobody builds a tower assuming they’ll figure out the money as they go. And yet that’s exactly how many couples approach marriage.
The reason this matters so much before the wedding is that money conversations aren’t really about money. They’re about values, fear, control, and trust, all wearing a financial disguise. How someone spends reveals what they believe security looks like. How someone saves reveals what they’re afraid of. How someone gives reveals what they trust God with. When couples avoid talking about finances before marriage, they aren’t just avoiding numbers, they’re avoiding the deeper conversation about how they’ll make decisions together when resources are limited, which happens far more often than most engaged couples expect.
Counting the cost also means being honest about debt, spending habits, and financial history before the wedding, not after. It is remarkably common for one partner to enter marriage carrying financial information the other has never seen in full, not out of deception necessarily, but out of the same discomfort that keeps money conversations off the table during dating. Scripture doesn’t treat this kind of avoidance as harmless. Proverbs repeatedly ties honesty and diligence together as marks of wisdom, and a marriage built on financial surprises discovered after the vows is a tower built without anyone sitting down first. This doesn’t mean either partner needs a perfect financial history to be marriage-ready. It means the conversation needs to happen honestly, with full information, before two lives are legally and spiritually joined.
Counting the cost also has a spiritual dimension many engaged couples skip entirely: the question of giving. Long before a couple ever discusses a mortgage or a retirement account, it’s worth asking what generosity will look like in their household, whether they’ll tithe, how they’ll decide what to give beyond that, and how they’ll handle disagreement if one partner is naturally more generous than the other. Money conversations that stop at budgeting and never reach stewardship miss half of what Scripture actually says about finances. A marriage that counts the cost biblically isn’t just protecting itself from debt, it’s asking what its resources are actually for.
What This Looks Like This Week
Picture an engaged couple sitting down at the kitchen table with two laptops open, one for each of their bank accounts, student loan balances, and monthly expenses. It is not a comfortable evening. He’s embarrassed about a maxed-out credit card from a rough year after college. She’s nervous to admit how little she’s saved despite a good salary. But by the end of the conversation, they have an actual number, a real combined picture of where they’re starting from, instead of the vague assumption that things will work out because they love each other. They also talk through basic questions neither had raised yet: Will you combine accounts or keep them separate? Who pays which bills? What does a reasonable emergency fund look like to each of you? What percentage, if any, will you give away first, before anything else gets budgeted? None of these questions have one correct biblical answer, but every one of them needs an honest conversation before the wedding, not an assumption carried into it.
This week, schedule one specific conversation, not a vague someday chat, but an actual sit-down with real numbers on the table: income, debt, savings, and spending habits, fully disclosed on both sides. If that conversation feels intimidating, that discomfort itself is worth naming out loud to each other and to God.
Counting the cost isn’t a lack of faith, it’s wisdom in action, and it protects the very love you’re trying to build a future around. Have this conversation honestly now, while grace and patience for each other’s financial past come easier than they will after a tense season down the road. If the conversation surfaces a real gap, one of you carries significant debt, or your instincts around spending and saving are far apart, don’t treat that as a reason to panic or delay the wedding indefinitely. Treat it as information you now get to plan around together, the same way Jesus’ builder recalculates once he actually knows what the tower will cost. A couple who counts the cost honestly and then makes a wise plan together is in a far stronger position than a couple who never counted at all.
Reflect
- Is there a financial detail, debt, spending habit, or past mistake, you have not yet fully disclosed to your partner?
- What does your approach to money reveal about what you believe security actually looks like?
- Have you and your partner sat down with real numbers on the table, or only talked about finances in general terms?
A Prayer for Today
Father, thank you for the wisdom in your word to count the cost honestly before building. I confess that money conversations have felt uncomfortable, and I have avoided full honesty at times because it felt easier than the discomfort of disclosure. Give my partner and me courage to sit down with real numbers, real debt, and real habits laid out plainly between us. Remove the shame that keeps us from being fully honest, and replace it with trust that grows through truth-telling. Teach us to build our financial life together on wisdom rather than assumption. Amen.
Your Action Step
This week, schedule a specific sit-down conversation where you both bring your actual income, debt, and savings numbers to the table and disclose them fully to each other.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Sep 9, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 5 minutesThe ride home from her cousin’s wedding was twenty-two minutes long, and neither of them said a word. Something had happened at the reception, a comment he’d made about her not helping enough with the decorations, and instead of talking about it, they both went quiet. She stared out the window. He turned the radio up slightly. Neither of them would have called it a fight. But by the time they pulled into her driveway, something had closed between them that hadn’t been closed twenty-two minutes earlier.
Not all silence is the same, and learning to tell the difference is one of the more overlooked communication skills for dating and engaged couples. Proverbs, largely attributed to Solomon and compiled as wisdom for everyday living passed from a father to his children, spends a surprising amount of space on the tongue, on when to speak and when to hold back. Two verses in chapter 17 draw a sharp contrast between silence that reflects wisdom and silence that merely disguises foolishness.
“He who spares his words has knowledge. He who is even tempered is a man of understanding. Even a fool, when he keeps silent, is counted wise. When he shuts his lips, he is thought to be discerning.” (Proverbs 17:27-28, WEB)
The first line praises restraint, a person who doesn’t pour out every reaction the instant they feel it. That is genuine wisdom, the discipline of thinking before speaking, of not letting every emotion become a sentence. But the second line is almost mischievous. It says even a fool who keeps quiet gets mistaken for wise. In other words, silence itself is not the virtue. Silence can hide wisdom, or it can hide someone who simply has nothing constructive to say and knows it. The proverb is warning readers not to assume that quiet always means healthy.
This matters enormously for couples, because silence in a relationship can mean at least two very different things, and confusing them causes real damage. There is silence that reflects self-control, the kind where you pause before responding in anger, where you take a breath instead of saying something you’ll regret, where you genuinely need a few minutes to think clearly before you speak. That silence is wise, and Proverbs elsewhere praises the person who is even-tempered and slow to stir up conflict. But there is also silence that is really withdrawal wearing a disguise. This is the silence that punishes without explaining, that says “I’m fine” while clearly not being fine, that shuts a partner out rather than working through a disagreement together. This second kind of silence isn’t wisdom at all. It’s avoidance, and over time it teaches your partner that certain topics are unsafe to raise, that conflict simply gets buried rather than resolved.
The danger for engaged and dating couples is that these two silences can feel identical from the outside. Both look like quiet. Both can look mature, even spiritual, like you’re being the bigger person by not saying anything. But one moves a relationship toward resolution and the other slowly erodes trust, because your partner is left guessing what your silence means. Is he thinking it over, or is he shutting me out? Is she being patient, or is she punishing me? A relationship where silence is ambiguous is a relationship where anxiety quietly grows in the space where honest words should be.
It’s also worth noticing what the proverb doesn’t say. It never suggests silence is a substitute for eventual honesty. The wise person of verse 27 spares his words in the moment, but the whole book of Proverbs assumes those thoughts will eventually be spoken clearly, with counsel sought and truth told. Silence that never resolves into honest conversation isn’t restraint, it’s just delay, and delay has a cost of its own. A couple can go quiet in a healthy way for an evening, but if that quiet stretches into days without ever circling back to the actual issue, the silence has stopped being wisdom and started being avoidance dressed up as patience. Even wise silence has an expiration date, a point where it’s meant to give way to honest words spoken calmly.
What This Looks Like This Week
Consider a dating couple who just had their first real disagreement about how much time he spends with his roommates versus with her. She goes quiet, not because she’s thinking calmly, but because she’s hurt and doesn’t want to say something she’ll regret. He notices the silence and assumes she’s dropped the issue, so he doesn’t bring it up again either. Two days pass. The issue never actually gets discussed, but it doesn’t disappear, it just moves underground, showing up later as a sharper comment about something unrelated. What could have changed this is one honest sentence: “I need a little time before I can talk about this without getting upset, but I do want to talk about it, can we come back to it tonight?” That sentence turns silence from a mystery into a plan. It tells your partner exactly what the quiet means and when the conversation will resume.
This week, notice your own pattern. When you go quiet during a disagreement, name out loud which kind of silence it is. If it’s the wise kind, the pause-before-you-speak kind, say so, and tell your partner when you’ll be ready to talk. If you catch yourself using silence to punish or avoid, that’s worth bringing to God and to your partner honestly, because a marriage cannot run on guesswork. It also helps to agree on a shared vocabulary now, before the wedding, so silence never has to be decoded from scratch in the middle of a hard moment. A simple phrase like “I need twenty minutes” or “I’m not shutting you out, I just need to think” does more relational work than either partner realizes, because it turns an ambiguous gap into a clearly labeled pause with an end in sight.
Wisdom isn’t measured by how little you say. It’s measured by whether your words, or your silence, are actually serving the relationship. Learn the difference now, name it out loud with each other, and you’ll build a marriage where quiet never becomes a wall.
Reflect
- When you go quiet during a disagreement with your partner, is it usually the restrained, thinking-it-through kind of silence, or the shutting-down kind?
- Can your partner currently tell the difference between your two kinds of silence, or does your quiet leave them guessing?
- What is one topic you have gone silent on recently instead of raising honestly, and what kept you from saying it out loud?
A Prayer for Today
Lord, thank you for the wisdom in your word that teaches me when to speak and when to be still. I confess that my silence has not always been the wise kind. Sometimes I have used quiet to punish instead of to think clearly, and I have let my partner guess at what I really feel. Give me the courage to name my silence honestly, to say when I need time and when I am ready to talk. Teach us both to use quiet in a way that protects our relationship rather than slowly closing the door on it. Amen.
Your Action Step
The next time you go quiet during a disagreement this week, say out loud which kind of silence it is and tell your partner when you'll be ready to talk again.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Sep 8, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 5 minutesHalfway through her sentence, he had already stopped listening. She was telling him how small she’d felt at his sister’s engagement dinner, the way his family kept talking around her instead of to her, but his mind had already moved on to building his defense. By the time she finished, he wasn’t responding to what she’d actually said. He was responding to the argument he had already written in his head while she was still talking.
If you’re engaged or seriously dating, you have probably done some version of this. Not because you don’t love the person across the table, but because listening to win feels safer than listening to understand. The letter of James was written by the half-brother of Jesus to Christians scattered across the ancient world, believers navigating real trials, real community, and real conflict. In the middle of practical instructions about faith that actually shows up in daily life, James gives a short command that can reshape how two people talk to each other.
“So, then, my beloved brothers, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, and slow to anger.” (James 1:19, WEB)
Notice the order. James doesn’t say slow to hear. He says swift to hear, quick, eager, active. Most of us treat listening as the passive half of a conversation, the waiting room before it’s our turn to talk. James reverses that. He treats listening as something you chase after, not something you tolerate until you get to speak.
Then comes slow to speak. This doesn’t mean never speak, or suppress everything you feel. It means you hold your words until you’ve actually understood what the other person meant, not what you assumed they meant. Most couples don’t fight because they disagree. They fight because they respond to a version of the sentence that was never actually said. He hears “your family made me feel small” and translates it into “you think your family is terrible,” then spends the next ten minutes defending people who were never actually being attacked.
Slow to anger follows naturally from the first two. Anger in a relationship is rarely a first response. It’s a second response, built on top of feeling unheard, misread, or dismissed. When you skip the listening step, you go straight to defending yourself, and defense almost always sounds like anger, even when you didn’t intend it to. James is not asking you to suppress emotion. He’s showing you that most unnecessary anger is a symptom of a missed first step.
There’s also something worth noticing about who James is describing this to. He calls his readers “beloved,” reminding them of relationship before giving correction. This posture mirrors how God listens to us. Scripture repeatedly describes God as one who hears the cry of his people, who is attentive before he acts, who does not silence a struggling heart with a quick rebuttal. If you want a model for what swift-to-hear listening actually looks like in practice, it’s worth remembering how patiently God has listened to your own unfinished, messy prayers over the years. Extending that same patience to your partner is not a technique borrowed from a communication seminar, it’s an act of reflecting God’s character into your closest relationship.
Here is why this matters so much for couples who are engaged or dating seriously: the listening patterns you build now are the patterns you will still be using twenty years from now. Marriage does not automatically upgrade your communication skills. If you’re currently someone who rehearses your rebuttal while your partner talks, that habit doesn’t disappear at the altar. It just gets more expensive, because the stakes get higher and the history gets longer. What you practice now, in dating and engagement, is what you will default to under pressure later. This is one of the most practical reasons premarital seasons matter so much. It’s not just about planning a wedding. It’s about becoming the kind of listener your future spouse can bring hard things to.
Being swift to hear also requires humility that most of us resist. It means entertaining the possibility that your first interpretation might be wrong. It means asking a clarifying question instead of assuming you already know where the sentence is headed. It means resisting the urge to fix, correct, or defend before you have actually confirmed what your partner meant. This is uncomfortable because it requires you to sit in not-yet-understood a little longer than feels natural. But that discomfort is exactly where real intimacy gets built, because your partner learns that you would rather understand them correctly than win the exchange quickly.
What This Looks Like This Week
Picture an engaged couple deep into wedding planning. She wants a smaller guest list; he wants to invite everyone who has ever mattered to his family. The conversation keeps ending in frustration, and both of them walk away feeling unheard. What if, instead of restating their positions louder, one of them tried this: “Before I respond, let me make sure I understand. You’re not against inviting people, you’re worried about feeling like a stranger at your own wedding surrounded by three hundred guests you don’t know well. Is that right?” That single move, checking understanding before responding, changes the entire shape of the conversation. It doesn’t mean the guest list gets solved instantly. But it means the two of them are now solving a real problem together instead of defending two competing monologues.
Try this the next time a disagreement starts to rise between you: before you say anything in response, put words to what you think your partner just said, and ask if you got it right. It will feel slow. It will feel almost unnecessary. Do it anyway, and watch how much faster you actually resolve things once you’re both talking about the same problem.
You might also try setting a simple rule together, no rebuttal until the other person feels understood. That doesn’t mean agreement, it means confirmation. One partner can genuinely say “I hear you, and I still see it differently” without ever having skipped the listening step. The goal isn’t to eliminate disagreement, it’s to make sure every disagreement is actually about the real issue, not about two people talking past each other while each waits for a turn to speak. Couples who practice this consistently often find their arguments get shorter, not longer, because so much of the length of a typical argument comes from repeating yourself until you finally feel heard.
You don’t have to fix every communication habit overnight. James isn’t asking for perfection, he’s asking for a posture, a willingness to hear before you defend. Practice that posture now, while the stakes are still forgiving, and you’ll be building the kind of marriage where your spouse never has to fight to be heard.
Reflect
- When was the last time you formed your response while your partner was still talking, and what did that cost the conversation?
- What is one recurring topic in your relationship where you already assume you know what your partner is going to say before they finish?
- Who taught you how to listen during conflict, and are those patterns ones you actually want to bring into your marriage?
A Prayer for Today
Lord, I confess how often I listen to defend myself instead of listening to understand the person I love. Teach me to be swift to hear, the way James describes, eager to understand before I respond. Slow my tongue down when I feel the urge to correct or explain myself too quickly. Slow my anger down when I feel unheard, and help me remember that my partner is not my opponent. Give us both the humility to ask clarifying questions instead of assuming the worst. Build in us now, in this season, the kind of listening that will carry our marriage well. Amen.
Your Action Step
In your next disagreement this week, before you respond, restate what you think your partner just said in your own words and ask, "Did I understand that right?" before saying anything else.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Sep 7, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 4 minutesThe counselor slides a single sheet of paper across her desk and asks you both to read it silently before saying anything out loud. It’s a list of twelve questions: How many children do you want, and what if you disagree? How will you handle it if one of you wants to move for a job and the other doesn’t want to leave family? What does forgiveness actually look like after infidelity — have you discussed it, or just assumed you’d never face it? You’ve been together two years. You’ve talked about wedding colors more than you’ve talked about four of these twelve questions, and the realization sits heavy in the room before either of you says a word.
Proverbs was compiled largely under Solomon, a king whose own life became a cautionary tale about ignoring wise counsel in the biggest decisions — including his marriages. The book repeatedly contrasts the wisdom of many counselors against the folly of going it alone, and this particular proverb states the principle in its starkest form.
“Where there is no counsel, plans fail; but in a multitude of counselors they are established.” (Proverbs 15:22)
The proverb’s logic is worth sitting with: plans made in isolation, without outside wisdom, fail — not sometimes, but as the described pattern. Plans tested and refined by multiple counselors are established, meaning they hold up, they have real staying power over time. Solomon himself is the living illustration of what happens when this principle gets ignored: a man of enormous wisdom on paper who nonetheless made catastrophic marital decisions later in life, apparently without the restraint of counsel that could have challenged him. The proverb isn’t abstract theory to him. It’s a lesson written, in part, from his own regret. Applied directly to premarital preparation, this proverb confronts a common pattern head-on: many couples treat the engagement season as purely a countdown to a wedding day — venue, dress, guest list — rather than as the last, best window to actually establish the marriage itself through hard, specific conversations and outside counsel from pastors, premarital counselors, mentor couples, or even just honest conversations with each other about topics that have been avoided precisely because they’re uncomfortable.
It’s worth naming the specific categories of “hard conversations” too many couples skip entirely. Finances: debt, spending styles, who manages what and how decisions get made. Family planning: how many children, when, and what happens if you disagree or face infertility. Roles and expectations: careers, household division of labor, where you’ll actually live and why. Extended family and boundaries: in-laws, holidays, financial obligations to parents that neither of you has said out loud yet. Sexual intimacy expectations, and any past history that needs honesty rather than silence. Faith practices: how you’ll actually worship together, disagree theologically, and raise children spiritually. And conflict itself — what happens in the worst-case scenarios, addiction, infidelity, major illness, that no one wants to imagine but every marriage should have at least discussed once, calmly, before it’s ever actually happening.
Notice that this proverb doesn’t say a single wise counselor is sufficient — it says a multitude. That plural matters for engaged couples who assume that one honest conversation between the two of them checks this box. Two people who love each other, who are both invested in the relationship succeeding, are not always the most objective judges of where their own blind spots lie. A pastor who has walked dozens of couples through these questions will notice patterns neither of you can see from inside your own relationship. A mentor couple who has survived a specific hardship, like infertility or a job loss, can ask questions from lived experience that a well-meaning friend simply can’t. Seeking a multitude of counselors isn’t a lack of trust in your own judgment as a couple; it’s an acknowledgment that even good judgment benefits from more than one vantage point.
Avoidance feels easier in the moment, and it’s worth being honest about why: hard conversations risk real conflict, and risk discovering genuine incompatibility you’d rather not face after the venue is already booked and paid for. But the proverb’s warning is precise on this point — the plan doesn’t fail despite the conversation being avoided, it fails because of it. Silence doesn’t prevent the disagreement from existing. It just delays the disagreement until the stakes are higher, the options for addressing it are fewer, and you’re navigating it inside a marriage instead of before one.
Commit to premarital counseling with a pastor or licensed counselor as a non-negotiable step, not an optional extra. But you don’t need to wait for a counselor’s office to start. This week, sit down together with a short, honest list: How will we handle money — separate or joint accounts, and who tracks the budget? What are our expectations around children, and what if we disagree or face infertility? How involved will our parents be in our marriage, and where are the boundaries? How do we each define a fair division of household responsibilities? Pick two of those questions and actually discuss them out loud this week, even if the answers are uncomfortable, rather than waiting for a professional to force the issue later. Write down your answers, not just your spoken impressions, so you can return to them later in marriage when memory of this conversation has faded but the commitment behind it still needs to hold. If you find real disagreement on either question, resist the urge to smooth it over quickly just to move on to lighter wedding-planning topics. Sit in the discomfort long enough to actually understand why your partner sees it differently, and bring that specific disagreement to your premarital counselor rather than letting it quietly ride into the marriage unresolved.
The conversations that feel riskiest to have now are the ones that will spare you the most pain later. A marriage established on real counsel, not assumption, is a marriage built to last, and the twelve questions on that counselor’s sheet of paper are far less frightening once you’ve actually started answering them together.
Reflect
- Which of the big premarital topics — finances, children, in-laws, conflict, faith practice — have you not yet discussed honestly with your partner, and why?
- Are you and your partner pursuing outside counsel (pastor, counselor, mentor couple) before the wedding, or planning to figure it out as you go?
- Is there a question on this list you're afraid to ask because you suspect you already know you disagree?
A Prayer for Today
God, give us the courage to have the conversations we've been avoiding. Forgive us for treating wedding planning as more urgent than actually preparing our marriage. Bring wise counsel into our path — a pastor, a counselor, people who will ask us the questions we're afraid to ask ourselves. Where we discover we disagree, give us patience and humility to work toward real understanding instead of papering over it. I don't want a marriage built on assumption. Establish our plans, Lord, through honest counsel and honest conversation, starting this week. In Jesus's name, amen.
Your Action Step
This week, pick two questions from the premarital conversation list you've been avoiding and have an honest, uninterrupted conversation about both.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Sep 6, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 5 minutesThe seating chart shouldn’t have caused this. It’s a spreadsheet with sixteen tables and ninety names, but somewhere between “my cousin can’t sit with your college roommate” and “why does your side of the family get three whole tables,” the conversation stopped being about seating and started being about something else entirely — who this wedding is actually for, whose family gets prioritized, who’s been carrying more of the planning. He grabs his keys. You grab your phone and start typing instead of talking. Within twenty minutes you’re in separate rooms, both certain you’re right, neither one saying a word.
Paul wrote Ephesians to a real church wrestling with real relational friction — unity across differences was the letter’s central concern. In chapter 4, after urging believers to walk worthy of their calling, he gets startlingly practical about anger, of all things.
“Be angry, and don’t sin. Don’t let the sun go down on your wrath.” (Ephesians 4:26)
Notice what Paul does not say. He doesn’t say “don’t be angry.” He assumes anger will happen — he’s actually quoting Psalm 4:4 to say it plainly, “be angry.” Anger itself isn’t sin. Scripture doesn’t ask engaged or married couples to suppress conflict or fake constant calm with each other. What Paul forbids is what anger becomes when it’s mismanaged: sin, and specifically, anger left to fester past sundown, given room in the verse right after this one to become “a foothold for the devil.” Unresolved anger doesn’t just sit still and wait patiently. It becomes an opening for something worse — bitterness, contempt, distance, quiet manipulation.
Notice, too, that Paul places this instruction in a letter primarily about unity within the church body, not a private relationship manual. He’s writing to people who worship together, serve together, and depend on each other spiritually, warning them that unresolved anger doesn’t just damage the two people involved, it damages the whole community around them. The same is true for a couple. Anger left to fester between an engaged pair doesn’t stay contained to the two of you. It leaks into how you treat future in-laws, how you show up for friends, how you plan a wedding meant to celebrate covenant while privately nursing resentment toward the very person you’re about to promise yourself to. Learning to resolve anger quickly isn’t just relational hygiene between the two of you; it’s part of guarding the wider community your marriage will be planted into.
The sun go down instruction isn’t a literal legalistic deadline requiring full resolution by midnight after every single fight — sometimes real resolution genuinely takes more than a few hours, and that’s not a sin in itself. It’s a principle against indefinite postponement, stonewalling, or the silent treatment as a long-term strategy for handling conflict. For engaged couples learning to fight for the first time as a unit rather than as two separate individuals, this means developing specific, learnable skills: naming anger honestly instead of hiding it behind sarcasm or cold withdrawal; separating the person from the problem, fighting the actual issue instead of each other’s character; setting a real, near-term time to return to the conversation even if you both genuinely need twenty minutes to cool down first; and actually initiating repair yourself rather than waiting for the other person to cave first out of exhaustion.
There’s a persistent myth worth dismantling here — that a “good” Christian couple simply doesn’t fight, that conflict itself is a sign something’s wrong. Reframe it: the goal was never avoiding conflict, since conflict is inevitable between two imperfect people building a shared life together. The goal is fighting in a way that doesn’t leave a foothold for division to take root and grow. Fighting fair now, before the wedding, builds the muscle memory that will matter enormously once you’re sharing a home, a bed, and a life where there’s no separate apartment to retreat to and cool off in for a few days.
An hour after the seating-chart blowup, one of them finally texts: “Can we finish this in person instead of over text?” They sit down and name what actually hurt underneath the argument — feeling like the planning weight isn’t shared evenly, feeling like family loyalty is being quietly questioned — and apologize for specific words instead of a vague “sorry if I upset you.” Then they finish the actual seating plan together, calmer, having repaired before either of them went to bed still fuming. That’s the template worth repeating: name it honestly, own your specific part, return before the day ends, repair together rather than separately.
It’s worth practicing this template on smaller disagreements now, precisely because the stakes are still relatively low. A fight over a seating chart is genuinely lower stakes than a fight over money five years into marriage, or a fight after a genuine betrayal of trust. If a couple can’t yet name their anger honestly, apologize specifically, and return to repair over something as replaceable as table assignments, they haven’t yet built the skill that far heavier conflicts will require later. Treat every disagreement during your dating or engaged season, however minor it seems, as practice for the much harder conversations marriage will eventually bring. The habit you’re building now is the same habit you’ll need later; it’s simply easier to build while the cost of getting it wrong is still small.
If a pattern of unresolved anger has already taken root between you, don’t wait for the wedding to address it. Bring it honestly to a pastor or premarital counselor now, while there’s still time to build new patterns before you’re living under one roof with nowhere left to retreat. Naming the pattern out loud to someone outside the relationship is often the very thing that finally breaks its hold on you both.
How you fight now is a preview of how you’ll fight for the next fifty years. Better to build the habit of quick, honest repair while you’re still dating or engaged than to discover on your wedding night that you never learned how.
Reflect
- What's your actual pattern when you get angry with your partner — do you name it honestly, or do you withdraw, deflect, or go silent?
- Think of your last real disagreement: did you let the sun go down on it, and if so, what kept you from returning to repair it sooner?
- What specific words or apology have you been avoiding giving your partner because pride feels safer than humility?
A Prayer for Today
Lord, teach us to be angry without sinning against each other. Forgive me for the times I've let the sun go down on my anger, choosing silence or distance over honest repair. Give me the courage to name what actually hurts instead of hiding behind sarcasm or withdrawal, and the humility to apologize specifically instead of vaguely. Help us build the habit now, before the wedding, of returning to each other quickly after conflict, so bitterness never gets a foothold in our home. Make our conflict something that draws us closer, not something we bury. In Jesus's name, amen.
Your Action Step
The next time you argue this week, commit to returning to the conversation and offering a specific apology before the day ends, rather than letting it sit unresolved overnight.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Sep 5, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 5 minutesYou find it in the back corner of a secondhand bookstore — a leather journal, half-filled with someone else’s handwriting, love letters between two people whose names you’ll never know, dated decades ago. You read three pages standing in the aisle before your fiancé notices you crying a little and asks what’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong. You’re just thinking about how someone else’s whole love story ended up in a two-dollar bin, unfinished, and it makes you wonder, not for the first time, who’s actually writing yours — you, or someone bigger than you.
This verse was written to Israelites in exile in Babylon, people who had lost their home, their temple, their sense of a future — grieving a story that had gone nowhere near where they expected. Jeremiah’s letter didn’t promise an immediate rescue; it promised something deeper: that God had a plan even inside the chapter that felt like loss.
“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says Yahweh, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)
This verse gets quoted often, sometimes detached entirely from its original context on graduation cards and inspirational posters, but its real meaning is actually sturdier than the greeting-card version. The original audience didn’t get instant relief — a few verses earlier, God tells them the exile will last seventy years (v. 10). The promise wasn’t that hardship would end tomorrow. The promise was that God hadn’t abandoned the story, even in the middle of the chapter that looked like nothing but loss.
It’s worth sitting with how unusual that message would have sounded to its first hearers. Exile wasn’t a metaphor to them; it was displacement, loss of land, loss of temple worship, loss of every marker of identity they’d built their lives around. Jeremiah doesn’t tell them the exile is secretly good, or that it doesn’t really matter, or that they should feel grateful for it. He tells them, plainly, that God is still authoring good purposes even here, in the middle of what looks like the worst chapter of their national story. That’s a far more durable hope than the sentimental version of this verse offers — not that everything happens for a nice reason, but that the Author has not left, even now.
Applied to dating and engaged relationships, this matters more than the sentimental version suggests. Many couples arrive at their relationship carrying earlier chapters that felt like exile: a painful breakup that took years to recover from, a long season of unanswered waiting while friends got married around them, family patterns of divorce or dysfunction they never chose but still carry. Letting God write your love story doesn’t mean pretending those hard chapters didn’t happen, or weren’t real losses worth grieving. It means trusting that the Author is still at work even in the seasons that felt like nothing was happening — the years of waiting, the relationship that ended, the family you wish had modeled something healthier.
There’s a real temptation, especially once a relationship finally feels good, to try to write your own story out of fear rather than trust — rushing toward engagement to avoid the discomfort of an unresolved plot, forcing timeline decisions because anxiety is louder than patience, editing your story so it looks impressive to others rather than letting it be honestly written. None of that is surrender. Surrender looks like bringing the actual decisions — when to get engaged, how quickly to move toward marriage, whether this relationship is genuinely the one — to God in prayer, willing to let him write chapters you wouldn’t have chosen for yourself, trusting his authorship even when the current page is unclear and you can’t yet see where it’s headed.
This also reshapes how you handle the parts of each other’s stories that are still tender. If you truly believe God has been authoring good purposes through your partner’s hardest chapters — not just your own — you’ll treat their past with more patience than judgment. A partner who took longer to trust again after a broken engagement isn’t behind schedule; they’re living out a story God is still writing, on a timeline you don’t get to dictate. A partner whose family never modeled healthy marriage isn’t destined to repeat it; they’re a chapter God is actively redeeming, sometimes slowly, sometimes in ways neither of you will fully see until years from now. Letting God write the story includes letting him write your partner’s story too, at his pace, not yours.
None of this means passivity. Letting God write the story doesn’t mean sitting back and waiting for a plot to simply happen to you. It means bringing your real decisions to him honestly, acting in faith on the clarity you do have, and trusting him with the parts you can’t yet see. The couple who prays over their next step and then actually takes it is cooperating with the Author, not overriding him, trusting that even an imperfect step taken in faith is one he can still work through for good.
Back in that bookstore, the couple has an honest conversation that same night about the chapters they each brought into the relationship that didn’t look like what they’d planned — a broken engagement neither of them expected to survive, years of loneliness that felt endless at the time, a family that never modeled a healthy marriage for either of them to imitate. Instead of trying to outrun those chapters, they choose together to actively hand the pen to God for the chapters still ahead, praying specifically that he would write their engagement and their marriage rather than either of them forcing the plot out of fear or impatience.
Your story so far may not read the way you expected it to. It may have chapters you’d have written differently if you’d had the choice. That doesn’t mean it isn’t being written by someone who knows exactly where it’s headed — and who has never once lost the thread of the story he’s telling through your life.
Reflect
- What chapter in your story before this relationship still feels unfinished or painful, and have you actually let God near it, or are you just trying to move past it?
- Where might you be trying to force the plot of this relationship out of fear or impatience rather than trusting God's timing?
- If you truly believed God was authoring good purposes through this relationship, what would you do differently this week?
A Prayer for Today
Lord, thank you for being the author of my story, even the chapters I wouldn't have chosen. Forgive me for trying to grab the pen out of fear or impatience instead of trusting you with the plot. Help me bring the parts of my past that still ache into your presence instead of just trying to move past them quickly. As I look toward this relationship's next chapters, give me the patience to let you write the timeline instead of forcing it, and the faith to believe you're working good even in the pages that don't make sense yet. In Jesus's name, amen.
Your Action Step
This week, write down one chapter of your story before this relationship that still feels unresolved, and pray it into God's hands together with your partner.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Sep 4, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 5 minutesThe bookshelf instructions are spread across the living room floor in two separate piles, because somehow you each grabbed a different page and started building from opposite ends without checking. By the time you compare notes, one side has the shelves spaced for paperbacks and the other side is built for hardcovers — technically both “correct,” entirely incompatible. You have to take half of it apart and start over. Your fiancé laughs and says it’s basically a parable. You’re not sure yet if you’re laughing or a little unsettled by how easily that happened without either of you noticing.
Amos was a shepherd-turned-prophet sent to confront Israel with uncomfortable truth, and he opens his message with a series of rhetorical questions designed to make an obvious point unmistakably clear before he says anything harder.
“Do two walk together, unless they have agreed?” (Amos 3:3)
The question is rhetorical, and the answer is obviously no. You can’t walk in step with someone heading a different direction, at a different pace, toward a different destination, without one of you eventually having to stop, turn around, or drag the other along against their will. Amos uses this to describe his own relationship with God — he speaks because God has spoken to him first, they’re “agreed” — but the principle translates directly to any partnership, including a marriage.
What does “being agreed” actually require for a couple? Not identical personalities, hobbies, or even every opinion — that would be a shallow and honestly impossible standard. It means alignment on the load-bearing values: what you believe about God and how central he is to daily life, how you’ll handle money, whether and how you’ll raise children in faith, how you’ll treat extended family and set boundaries with them, what non-negotiables exist around honesty and fidelity. It’s worth clearly distinguishing preference differences, which are fine and even healthy — one of you loves mornings, the other loves late nights; one is a saver by temperament, the other spends more freely on experiences — from values differences, which will eventually force a stop, a turn, or an argument every single time they surface, for the rest of the marriage, unless they’re addressed honestly before the wedding.
It’s worth pointing out, too, that Amos’s own life illustrates why agreement matters so much before you’re already walking. God didn’t call Amos into ministry and leave him to figure out the message on his own — the text makes clear that Amos speaks because he has already heard, already been given the direction, already agreed with what God was sending him to say. He wasn’t improvising alignment mid-journey. The agreement came first, and the walking together followed from it. Couples often reverse that order without meaning to — they start walking together as a couple long before they’ve actually done the work of checking whether they agree on where the walk is headed, assuming the agreement will simply sort itself out along the way. Sometimes it does. Often it doesn’t, and the disagreement only becomes visible once you’re deep enough into the relationship that turning back feels far more costly than it would have earlier.
Here’s the common mistake worth naming gently: many couples assume that shared feelings now guarantee shared direction later. It feels good enough not to ask the harder questions, so the questions simply never get asked. Then, a year or two into marriage, a couple discovers a core values gap — about how much to give away financially, or how involved in-laws should be, or what discipline should look like with kids — not because either person was hiding something, but because it genuinely never came up while everything still felt easy. Amos’s question invites you to check the instructions together, out loud, before you’re several chapters into building a life you can’t easily take apart and redo.
This is also where wise outside input becomes valuable, not just conversation between the two of you. Two people who love each other can still talk past a real disagreement without realizing it, each hearing what they want to hear rather than what was actually said. A pastor, a premarital counselor, or an older couple who has weathered real value differences in their own marriage can often surface a misalignment that you two, too close to the relationship, keep missing. Don’t treat outside counsel as a formality to get through before the wedding is approved. Treat it as a second and third set of eyes checking whether you’re actually agreed, not just assuming you are because the relationship otherwise feels right.
Take the bookshelf couple seriously as a template. Prompted by that mismatched-instructions moment, they sit down that same week with a simple list of ten value questions: How will we handle disagreements with in-laws? What does giving and generosity look like for us? How many kids do we want, and how will we discipline them? How will we make big financial decisions — together, or does one of us take the lead? They discover they agree on eight without much discussion at all, and need real, sometimes uncomfortable conversation on two — one about how much financial support to offer aging parents someday, and one about how strictly to structure discipline with future kids. That’s not a bad outcome. That’s the good news of doing this work early — better to find the gaps now, with time and goodwill to actually reach agreement, than to discover them after the vows are spoken and the stakes are permanent.
Agreement isn’t sameness. It’s two people who’ve actually done the work of checking the instructions together before they start building — who’ve had the conversations that felt a little risky, and came out the other side actually walking the same direction, on purpose, together. That’s a far sturdier foundation for a lifelong walk than simply hoping the pieces will fit once the building has already begun, and it’s a foundation you can only lay by actually having the conversation rather than assuming your way past it.
Reflect
- Which of your core values — faith, finances, family, conflict — have you actually discussed out loud with your partner, and which have you simply assumed you agree on?
- Can you name one value gap between you that you've been avoiding because raising it feels riskier than ignoring it?
- If you look honestly at how you make decisions right now, are you walking in step, or is one of you quietly leading while the other follows without full agreement?
A Prayer for Today
Father, show us honestly where we've assumed agreement instead of actually building it. I don't want to discover a values gap after the vows are already spoken. Give us courage to ask the hard questions now — about faith, money, family, and children — even when the answers might be uncomfortable. Where we disagree, give us humility to listen and wisdom to find real agreement, not just polite avoidance. Help us walk in step with each other because we've actually chosen the same direction, not because we've avoided checking. In Jesus's name, amen.
Your Action Step
This week, sit down together with a list of five core values (faith, finances, family planning, conflict, roles) and name out loud where you actually agree and where you don't.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Sep 3, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 5 minutesYou’re sitting in the church parking lot afterward, engine running, neither of you quite ready to pull out yet. This is the fourth church you’ve visited together in two months — his has the hymns and the pastor who baptized him as a baby; hers has the modern worship set and a young couples’ ministry that already feels like community. Both are good. Neither of you wants to simply “win” this one by attrition. “We can’t keep visiting churches forever,” he finally says. “At some point this has to be ours, not yours and mine.”
Hebrews was written to Christians tempted to drift away from gathered community — under pressure, discouraged, some already skipping meeting together. The writer doesn’t just recommend church attendance as a nice habit; he frames it as essential to spiritual survival, especially as hard times approach.
“Let’s consider how to provoke one another to love and good works, not forsaking our own assembling together, as is the custom of some, but exhorting one another, and so much the more, as you see the Day approaching.” (Hebrews 10:24-25)
Notice the “one another” language woven through this passage. Church, in the New Testament’s vision, isn’t a solo spiritual consumer activity where you show up, receive something, and leave unchanged by the people around you. It’s a body that provokes, exhorts, and encourages its members toward love and good works. Applied directly to an engaged couple, this means choosing a church home together before the wedding isn’t a logistical afterthought squeezed in between venue tours and cake tastings — it’s choosing the community that will disciple your marriage, hold you accountable, and walk with you through both celebration and crisis long after the wedding day photos are put away.
Here’s the risk worth naming honestly: a couple who never settles into one shared church often ends up, functionally, without either the community or the accountability this passage describes. Each partner stays tethered to their own separate spiritual “home,” attending on alternating Sundays or drifting between the two, never actually becoming one body together the way they’re becoming one household in every other area of life. You can be perfectly cordial about it and still, five years into marriage, realize you never actually built the shared community this passage assumes every believer needs.
The tension is real, though, and worth taking seriously rather than steamrolling. Blending church backgrounds means navigating denominational differences, worship style preferences, and loyalty to a childhood church or a pastor who has mattered to you personally for years. The way through isn’t for one person to simply defer to the other’s preference indefinitely, nor for the search to become another arena for someone to “win.” Evaluate together, out loud, by a different standard than comfort: where will we actually be built up? Where will we know and be known, as a couple, within a reasonable amount of time? Where will we be exhorted toward love and good works rather than just entertained for an hour a week?
It’s worth naming a subtler danger here too: sometimes the disagreement isn’t really about which church is objectively better, but about deeper loyalties neither person has voiced. Staying at a childhood church can be less about theology and more about not wanting to disappoint parents who have attended there for decades. Preferring a new church can be less about worship style and more about wanting a fresh identity separate from the family you grew up in. Naming those underlying loyalties honestly with each other, rather than arguing only about surface preferences, usually gets a couple unstuck far faster than another round of visiting churches. Ask directly: is there a reason beyond preference that one of us is attached to a particular option, and would it help to say that out loud?
Pay attention, too, to the urgency in “as you see the Day approaching.” The writer of Hebrews isn’t casual about this instruction — gathered community becomes more essential, not less, as difficulty increases. For a couple heading into marriage, which carries its own set of trials ahead, settling into committed community before the wedding rather than after means you enter marriage already surrounded, rather than scrambling to build support for the first time after a crisis hits.
Consider, too, what settling into a church home together does for your engagement itself, not just your future marriage. Premarital counseling is far more effective when it comes from people who will still know you next year, not a one-time seminar you never see again. A young marrieds’ ministry can surround you with couples five or ten years ahead of you, willing to answer honest questions about conflict, intimacy, or in-laws that you might feel awkward asking your own parents. And practically, a pastor who has watched you serve and grow together for months before the wedding will know you far better standing at the altar than one who met you during a single planning meeting. The church you choose now shapes not only your wedding day, but the entire season leading up to it.
Back in that parking lot, the couple decides on a plan instead of continuing to drift between two churches indefinitely: three more visits together, with an actual list of questions — is there a couples’ or young marrieds’ ministry, will we be known by name within a year, does the preaching challenge us both, not just comfort us — and a commitment to choose one within two months and actually get involved, not merely attend. Getting involved matters as much as the choosing: joining a small group, signing up to serve on a team, introducing themselves to the couples’ ministry leader by name rather than staying anonymous in the back row. A church home isn’t established by attendance alone; it’s established by being known, which only happens through consistent, visible participation over time.
The church you choose together isn’t just where you’ll get married. It’s who will help carry you when marriage gets hard. Choose it with the same intentionality you’re choosing each other.
Reflect
- Right now, are you and your partner actually building toward one shared church community, or are you each still functionally rooted in separate ones?
- What would it cost you personally to leave a church you love for the sake of building a shared spiritual home with your partner — and are you willing to have that conversation honestly?
- If you got married this year, is there a church community right now that would notice if you disappeared for a month?
A Prayer for Today
God, thank you for the gift of your church, and for the community we still need to fully find together. Forgive us for letting comfort or convenience keep us rooted in separate spiritual homes instead of building one shared community before we're married. Give us wisdom as we choose a church together — not based on which one is easier, but on where we'll actually be known, exhorted, and built up as a couple. Prepare the community that will walk with us through both the joyful and hard seasons ahead. Help us commit, not just visit. In Jesus's name, amen.
Your Action Step
This week, agree together on two or three churches to visit as a couple over the next month, with a plan to commit to one before the wedding.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Sep 2, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 5 minutesEight months in, you still don’t have a name for what this is. You’ve met his roommates. You’ve spent four holidays with her family. You text good morning and good night every day without fail. But when a friend asked at brunch what you two actually are, you both gave a different answer, and neither of you laughed it off as easily as you wanted to. It’s a little like hiking a trail with no markers — you’ve covered real ground together, but neither of you actually chose the direction; you just kept walking because stopping felt harder than continuing.
Proverbs 16 sits among Solomon’s collected wisdom sayings about the tension between human planning and divine sovereignty — a recurring theme throughout this chapter especially. Verse 9 captures it in a single line meant to be memorized and lived, not just admired from a distance.
“A man’s heart plans his course, but Yahweh directs his steps.” (Proverbs 16:9)
Notice what this verse doesn’t say. It doesn’t condemn planning; it states planning as a simple fact of wise living — “a man’s heart plans his course” is presented as normal and expected, not as prideful overreach. What the verse corrects is the illusion that planning equals control. You can plan the course. God directs the actual steps. Applied to dating, this is not a verse against intentionality. If anything, it assumes intentionality as the starting point — you’re meant to plan your course — while trusting God with how the details actually unfold.
That distinction matters, because “dating on purpose” often gets confused with either rigid over-planning on one end, or passive drifting dressed up as spirituality on the other. Drifting looks like letting a relationship coast on convenience and inertia without either person actually choosing it — staying together because breaking up feels harder than continuing, avoiding the conversation about direction because ambiguity feels safer than a real answer. Some couples call this “letting God lead” or “not rushing things,” but it often isn’t trust in God’s sovereignty at all. It’s frequently just avoidance of a hard conversation, wearing spiritual language as a disguise. God directing your steps assumes you’re walking somewhere with intention, not standing still hoping direction will find you on its own.
It helps to notice how the rest of Proverbs treats planning as a mark of maturity, not its opposite. The book repeatedly contrasts the sluggard, who drifts through life reacting to whatever’s in front of him, with the wise person, who thinks ahead, weighs consequences, and commits to a direction. Nowhere does Scripture praise aimlessness as a form of spiritual surrender. Faith, in the biblical imagination, looks like Nehemiah surveying the broken walls before he ever picked up a trowel, or Paul planning missionary routes he then submitted to the Spirit’s redirection. The pattern is always the same: plan with real intention, then hold that plan open-handed enough for God to redirect it. A relationship that never gets planned in the first place isn’t more open to God’s leading — it’s simply directionless, with no plan for him to redirect.
Dating on purpose looks specific and concrete: naming what you’re actually doing together — are we dating with marriage as the aim, or is this genuinely undefined and both of us are at peace with that? Having regular, honest check-ins about where the relationship is headed instead of assuming you both already know. Being willing to end a relationship that has clarified it isn’t leading toward marriage, rather than letting it drift on for years out of comfort or fear of starting over. This isn’t about rushing anyone into a decision — it’s about respecting the other person’s time and heart enough to be honest about direction, because vague relationships often quietly cost someone years they could have spent building a life with someone actually walking the same course.
It’s worth being honest about why ambiguity feels safer than clarity for so many couples. Naming a direction out loud means risking a real answer — maybe your partner isn’t actually planning toward marriage the way you assumed, or maybe you’ll discover you’ve been more hesitant than you realized once you have to put it into words. Staying vague protects both people from that risk, at least temporarily. But Proverbs doesn’t offer risk-avoidance as wisdom. It offers planning, submitted to God, as wisdom. The couple who never asks the direction question isn’t being more faithful; they’re simply postponing a conversation that will eventually happen anyway, usually at a point where more time and more of each other’s hearts are already invested.
Take that eight-month couple. Prompted by the brunch question neither of them could answer well, they finally sit down that week and have the conversation they’d been circling for months — naming their intentions, their expectations around exclusivity, what moving toward marriage would actually mean and on what kind of timeline. It’s not a comfortable conversation. There’s real relief in some of what gets said, and honestly, there might be grief too, if it turns out they want different things. But either outcome is better than another eight months of walking an unmarked trail, letting momentum decide something neither of them ever chose on purpose.
It’s worth adding that dating on purpose doesn’t require having every answer figured out on the first serious conversation. Direction can be genuine even when the exact timeline isn’t settled yet. What matters is that both people are actually choosing, together and out loud, rather than one person quietly hoping the relationship becomes something neither of them has agreed to pursue. A couple can honestly say we’re moving toward marriage and still need real conversations later about when. What they can’t do, if they want to date with integrity, is let month after month pass without ever naming the direction at all.
Purposeful dating isn’t a lack of trust in God — it’s cooperating with the way he actually works throughout Scripture: plan your course wisely, walk it with intention, and trust him with the steps you can’t control. Don’t mistake drifting for patience. Plan your course this week, and let God direct where it actually leads.
Reflect
- Could you clearly state, in one sentence, what direction your relationship is currently headed and why — or has it mostly been drifting on convenience?
- Is there a conversation about intention or timeline you've been avoiding because clarity feels riskier than ambiguity?
- Where in this relationship have you confused waiting on God with simply avoiding a decision you're afraid to make?
A Prayer for Today
Lord, I confess I've let drifting feel like patience and avoidance feel like trust. I don't want to waste either of our years in a relationship neither of us has actually chosen on purpose. Give me courage to have the honest conversation about direction and timeline instead of hiding behind vague hope. Help me plan my course wisely, the way Proverbs describes, while still trusting you to direct the actual steps. Whatever the answer turns out to be, give me the strength to face it honestly rather than let ambiguity decide for me. In Jesus's name, amen.
Your Action Step
This week, have one direct conversation with your partner naming where you believe the relationship is headed and by when, instead of letting time decide for you.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Sep 1, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 5 minutesThe waiting room chairs are the stiff plastic kind, and you’ve been sitting in them for two hours since your fiancé’s mother was rushed in. He’s texted his sister three times and refilled his coffee twice, and neither of you has said much. Finally he reaches for your hand and says quietly, “Should we pray?” You realize, sitting there under the fluorescent lights, that in over a year of dating you’ve prayed for each other plenty — silently, separately, in the privacy of your own devotions — but you have almost never actually prayed together, out loud, in the same room. Tonight, of all nights, is the first time.
James wrote his letter to scattered, struggling believers dealing with real suffering, sickness, and sin in community — not abstract theology, but the practical question of how faith holds up under pressure. Near the end of the letter, he gets specific about what a healthy spiritual community actually does when someone is hurting.
“Confess your offenses to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The insistent prayer of a righteous person is powerfully effective.” (James 5:16)
Notice the two commands James pairs together: confess to one another, and pray for one another. He assumes both happen in relationship, not in isolation. For an engaged or dating couple, this text points to a spiritual practice that’s often quietly skipped: praying together, out loud, especially about hard or vulnerable things. Many Christian couples pray easily over meals — a quick “bless this food” — but rarely pray about the actual substance of their lives together: fear, conflict, family struggles, unmet longings. That’s a missed opportunity, because praying together does something private prayer alone doesn’t. It makes you spiritual witnesses to each other’s actual burdens, not just polite companions who happen to share a faith.
It’s also worth noticing that James places confession and prayer in the same breath, as though one naturally leads to the other. That pairing matters for a couple preparing for marriage, because the ability to pray together honestly is directly tied to the ability to be honest with each other in the first place. Couples who never practice confession — who default to smoothing over conflict rather than naming it, or who each privately carry disappointment without ever voicing it — usually find their shared prayer life stays shallow too, limited to safe, general requests because anything deeper would require admitting something uncomfortable out loud. Learning to pray together and learning to confess honestly to each other grow in tandem. You rarely get skilled at one without the other.
If you’ve avoided this, you’re not unusual. Praying out loud in front of someone else is genuinely vulnerable — there’s the awkwardness of not knowing what to say, the fear of sounding unspiritual compared to your partner, or simply never having been taught how. It’s worth naming plainly: it feels clumsy at first for almost everyone. Sincerity matters far more than eloquence here. James’s phrase “the insistent prayer of a righteous person is powerfully effective” is followed immediately by the example of Elijah — an ordinary human being who prayed fervently and saw real, tangible effect. Praying together isn’t a formality to check off. It’s a means God actually uses.
There’s also a cost to this practice that’s worth being honest about: praying together honestly will eventually surface things that need actual repentance between you — an unkind word, a broken promise, a flash of jealousy neither of you has named out loud. Praying honestly together requires being honest about failure first, which is its own quiet act of humility and trust-building long before you ever stand at the altar. A couple who can confess to each other and then pray together afterward has built something a couple who only ever apologizes and moves on has not.
If you’re not sure where to begin, it can help to borrow structure rather than waiting for inspiration to strike. Some couples find it easier to pray through a passage of Scripture together — reading a psalm out loud and then turning its words into a prayer for their own relationship — rather than starting from a blank page. Others keep a simple shared list, written down, of things they’re praying about together: a parent’s health, a job transition, a recurring temptation one of them is fighting. Having something concrete to return to takes the pressure off finding the exact right words and puts the focus back where it belongs — on actually bringing your real life to God together, however plainly you say it.
This matters as much for engaged couples planning a wedding as for any other season, maybe more. It’s easy to assume that because you’re actively involved in premarital classes, choosing readings for the ceremony, or even asking a pastor to officiate, your spiritual life together is automatically healthy. But none of that necessarily includes the two of you actually praying together outside of a public or ceremonial setting. A couple can plan an entirely Christian wedding day — hymns, Scripture readings, a pastor’s blessing — and still reach the altar having prayed together out loud, privately, only a handful of times. The wedding day isn’t where this habit gets built. It has to be built in the ordinary weeks leading up to it, in a living room or a car or, as this couple discovered, a waiting room neither of them chose to be in.
Start smaller than the hospital waiting room forced this couple to start. Try a two-minute nightly check-in prayer — not a performance, just naming one thing you’re grateful for and one thing you’re worried about, then praying about both, out loud, together. Or pick one real concern each week — a job interview, a hard conversation with a parent, a financial decision — and pray over it specifically instead of defaulting to generic blessings. That hospital-room couple, once they stumbled through their first out-loud prayer together, kept doing it afterward, even about small things, because they’d discovered something they hadn’t expected: praying together didn’t just ask God for help, it made them feel like they were actually facing life together instead of alongside each other.
The habit built now, however awkward it feels at first, becomes the backbone of a marriage that will face far harder rooms than a hospital waiting area. Don’t wait for a crisis to have your first out-loud prayer together. Start this week, on an ordinary night, with something small and real.
Reflect
- Have you and your partner ever prayed together out loud about something real, or has your prayer life stayed mostly private and parallel?
- What makes you hesitant to pray out loud in front of your partner — self-consciousness, fear of sounding unspiritual, or simply never being taught how?
- Is there something happening in your life right now that you haven't asked your partner to pray with you about, and why not?
A Prayer for Today
Father, forgive me for treating prayer with my partner as optional or awkward instead of essential. I want more than parallel faith — I want us to actually kneel together, confess honestly, and carry each other's burdens the way James describes. Teach me to pray out loud without pretense, to be vulnerable about what I actually need prayer for, and to take my partner's struggles as seriously as my own. Make our prayer life together a real source of healing, not just a formality before meals. Start that tonight, however clumsy it feels. In Jesus's name, amen.
Your Action Step
This week, pray together out loud at least three times about something specific and real — not just a generic blessing — even if it feels awkward at first.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Aug 31, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 5 minutesIt’s 11:40 p.m. and the wedding budget spreadsheet is still open on the laptop between you, the cursor blinking in a cell neither of you wants to fill in first. The venue costs more than either of you expected, which means something else has to shrink — the guest list, the honeymoon, the flowers nobody will remember in five years. You’ve moved numbers around for an hour, and every version feels like a trade-off between two things you both want. Somewhere in the frustration, your fiancée sets down her phone and asks a different question than the one you’ve been arguing about: “What are we actually building this budget — and this marriage — around?”
Jesus said this in the middle of the Sermon on the Mount, right after telling a crowd of ordinary, financially anxious people not to worry about food, clothing, or tomorrow — the exact kinds of pressures that show up in a dating or engaged relationship’s budget, calendar, and long-term plans. His solution to anxious striving wasn’t “try harder to balance everything.” It was to reorder what gets sought first.
“But seek first God’s Kingdom, and his righteousness; and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 6:33)
“Seek first” doesn’t mean seek only, and it doesn’t mean exclude career, wedding planning, or family from your attention. It means sequence and priority. Everything else in this passage — what you’ll eat, what you’ll wear, what tomorrow holds — is real and matters, but it isn’t meant to be sought first. God’s kingdom, his rule and his righteousness, is meant to govern above your own comfort, ambition, and image.
Here’s why that matters so specifically for a couple who’s dating or engaged: it’s tempting, understandably, to treat the relationship itself as the highest good — the thing you organize your whole life around, the source of your security and identity. But when a relationship is asked to be the ultimate priority, it becomes fragile, because it’s being asked to bear a weight only God was ever meant to bear: your sense of worth, your security, your meaning. A relationship can’t hold that weight forever without cracking. But when God’s kingdom is legitimately first for both individuals — not just in theory, but in how you actually spend your time and money — the relationship becomes something you build together underneath a shared, greater priority, instead of two individuals locked in a quiet tug-of-war between competing “firsts”: career versus relationship versus family of origin versus personal ambition.
Notice, too, what Jesus promises: “these things will be given to you as well.” That’s not a prosperity guarantee that seeking God first means an easy budget or a stress-free wedding. It’s an assurance that when priorities are rightly ordered, the practical concerns — what to eat, what to wear, how to spend — find their proper, non-anxious place in your life, rather than driving every decision you make as a couple.
So ask honestly: does your calendar reflect that God’s kingdom is actually first, or has wedding planning quietly occupied the priority that worship, prayer, and service used to hold in your individual lives? Does your budget reflect stewardship and generosity, or has the wedding itself become something you’re both, without quite noticing, worshiping?
It’s worth being honest, too, about how subtly this shift usually happens. Almost no engaged couple sits down and decides on purpose to demote God’s kingdom. It happens by a thousand small substitutions — the small group you used to attend together quietly becomes something you’ll get back to after the wedding, the tithe check gets smaller because the deposit for the venue is due, the evening you used to spend serving at church gets absorbed by cake tastings and seating charts. None of those choices is sinful in isolation. The danger is cumulative: a season can slip by where the relationship, and the wedding that celebrates it, has quietly become the actual center of gravity, while God’s kingdom becomes something you’ll return to a state of things calm down eventually. Naming that pattern honestly, before the wedding rather than after, is itself an act of seeking him first.
Go back to that spreadsheet moment. Instead of the question “what can we afford,” the couple starts asking a different one together: “what does faithfulness look like with what we actually have?” That single shift changes the conversation. Maybe it means committing to tithe from wedding gifts instead of treating them as pure windfall. Maybe it means trimming the guest list, not because you have to, but because starting the marriage without debt matters more to both of you than an impressive event. Maybe it simply means pausing to pray over the spreadsheet together before either of you touches another number — not as a formality, but as an actual act of seeking God’s kingdom in a decision that, left alone, would just be two people negotiating for what they each want.
This principle extends well beyond the wedding budget, too. It applies to how you’ll decide where to live after marriage, how you’ll spend your Saturdays, whether one of you will pursue a demanding career track that leaves little room for church involvement or family. Every one of those decisions is, underneath the practical details, an answer to the question of what actually governs your life together. Couples who wait until after the wedding to ask that question usually find the patterns they built during engagement — treating the relationship itself, or comfort, or ambition as the unspoken priority — are far harder to unlearn once they’ve calcified into a marriage’s daily rhythm. Better to practice reordering your priorities now, while the stakes of any single decision are still relatively small, than to try to retrain years of habit once children, mortgages, and careers raise those stakes considerably.
A relationship anchored under God’s kingdom, rather than competing for the top spot in your life, will hold steady long after the wedding budget is forgotten and the flowers have wilted. Seek him first this week — in the small decisions, not just the big ones — and watch what settles into its rightful place underneath that.
Reflect
- If someone looked at your calendar and your spending this month, would they conclude that God's kingdom is actually first in your life, or that your relationship (or wedding) has quietly taken that place?
- What specific worry about money, timing, or having enough is currently driving your decisions instead of trust in God's provision?
- What would change about your wedding planning or dating life this week if you deliberately sought God's kingdom first in it, rather than fitting him in around it?
A Prayer for Today
Lord, I don't want our relationship to quietly become the thing I worship instead of you. Show me where anxiety about money, timing, or the future is driving our decisions instead of trust in your provision. Help us seek your kingdom first — not as a spiritual afterthought squeezed in around wedding planning, but as the actual priority that shapes our calendar, our budget, and our choices. Teach us that putting you first isn't a threat to our relationship but the very thing that will hold it steady. Give us the courage to reorder what needs reordering this week. In Jesus's name, amen.
Your Action Step
This week, before making your next wedding-planning or financial decision, pause together and pray specifically that God's kingdom, not comfort or image, would shape the choice.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Aug 30, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 5 minutesYou’re standing in the rope aisle of the hardware store at nine at night, three weeks before the wedding, trying to figure out how to hang string lights across the backyard for the reception. You test a single cord and it feels flimsy under the weight of the bulbs, so the guy behind the counter hands you a length of braided rope instead. “Single strand snaps under weight,” he says. “Braided holds. More fibers, more friction, harder to break.” You buy the braided rope. Your fiancé jokes it should have been your engagement gift. You laugh, but standing in that aisle, something else occurs to you: neither of you had thought yet about what your own relationship is actually braided from.
Ecclesiastes is the most unflinchingly honest book in the Bible about the limits of human effort, written by “the Preacher” — traditionally understood as Solomon — reflecting on a life spent testing what actually holds up under weight: wealth, wisdom, pleasure, achievement. In chapter 4, he turns from lone achievement to companionship, arguing that two are better than one because they can help each other up when one falls. Then he adds a third strand.
“If a man prevails against him who is alone, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.” (Ecclesiastes 4:12)
Read in its immediate context, Ecclesiastes 4 is commending companionship and mutual support in general — two people helping each other outwork the risks of going it alone — without naming God as the third strand directly. Reading God as the unnamed third strand is a longstanding, popular devotional application rather than the text’s stated point, and it’s a good one — just worth knowing the difference between what the verse says and how it’s often applied.
Two is already better than one — Solomon spent the verses before this on that truth: two can help each other up, keep each other warm, defend each other. But he doesn’t stop at two. He adds a third strand precisely because two people, however devoted, are still limited — two finite people, two tempers, two blind spots, two sets of unmet needs on a hard day. A two-strand relationship holds up fine under normal weight. This proverb envisions something stronger still: three strands, woven together, able to withstand what two alone cannot.
Applied to a relationship, that third strand is God himself — not as a vague spiritual add-on, but as an active third party actually woven into the daily life of the relationship. Think about the physics of a braided cord for a moment: it isn’t stronger merely because it has more mass. It’s stronger because of multiplied friction — each strand supports the others, distributing tension across all three so no single strand bears the full load alone. For a couple, this means that when conflict pulls painfully in one direction, the third strand — shared surrender to God — keeps the whole cord from snapping open even when one person is at their weakest, most tired, or most hurt.
It’s worth pausing on why Solomon reaches for three strands rather than simply saying more is always better. A cord could theoretically be four strands, or ten. He picks three deliberately, because three is the minimum needed to change the entire structure of the bond — two strands twisted together can still be pried apart with enough force at a single point, but a third strand woven through the other two distributes any pulling force across the whole cord instead of concentrating it at one weak spot. That’s not just poetic; it’s how braided rope actually behaves under load. A relationship without God at the center isn’t just missing a nice extra — it’s missing the very thing that keeps a single hard pull from unraveling the whole bond at once.
But here’s where many well-meaning Christian couples miss the point: it isn’t enough for both people to individually believe in God. That’s two separate strands running parallel, not one cord braided together. Parallel faith looks like two individuals who each pray privately, each attend church, each read Scripture on their own time — admirable, but not yet woven. Braided faith looks different: praying about the relationship together, out loud; submitting real decisions to God together instead of just deciding and asking for his blessing afterward; letting Scripture arbitrate disagreements rather than only personal preference; seeking wise counsel together when you’re stuck. The braid isn’t automatic just because both people believe. It has to be woven, decision by decision, into how you actually relate to each other.
This is especially important to establish before the wedding, because the habits you practice now are the habits you’ll default to when marriage brings heavier weight. A couple who has only ever negotiated decisions between themselves will keep doing exactly that after the vows, just with higher stakes — a mortgage instead of a rent split, a child’s wellbeing instead of a seating chart. A couple who has practiced bringing God actively into decisions while dating will have already built the reflex to do the same when the decision is enormous: a job loss, a diagnosis, a wayward child years down the road. The cord doesn’t get braided instantly at the altar. It gets braided in all the small, unglamorous decisions made while you’re still just dating or engaged, deciding together, on purpose, to make God the third strand rather than an afterthought.
This week, when a real decision comes up between you — maybe the wedding budget, maybe a disagreement about where to live, maybe how to handle a strained family relationship — resist the instinct to simply negotiate it out between the two of you like it’s a transaction. Pause. Pray about it together, out loud, before either of you makes up your mind. Say it plainly to each other: “Let’s not decide this as just the two of us.” It will feel unfamiliar at first, maybe even a little vulnerable, especially if you’re used to hashing things out privately in your own head before bringing your position to the table. But that’s exactly the muscle this proverb is describing — the difference between a relationship that can be pulled apart under enough pressure and one that has genuinely invited a third strand strong enough to hold when you can’t hold each other up anymore.
The cord being woven now, in this dating or engaged season, is what will hold when marriage brings weight neither of you can carry alone. Don’t wait for the wedding day to start braiding it in. Start with the next hard decision you face this week, and let it be genuinely, practically three strands instead of two.
Reflect
- Right now, is your faith running parallel alongside your relationship, or is it actually braided into how you make decisions together? What's one recent decision that shows which it is?
- What would it look like this week to pray about something specific in your relationship together, out loud, instead of separately?
- When conflict pulls hard in one direction, do you currently have a third strand to fall back on, or does the whole weight rest on just the two of you?
A Prayer for Today
God, thank you for wanting to be part of our relationship, not just a witness to it. I confess we've sometimes let our faith run parallel instead of woven together — believing separately instead of building together. Teach us what it actually looks like to invite you into our decisions, our conflicts, our finances, our future, instead of only bringing you in when we're desperate. Make us a cord of three strands, so that when pressure comes, and I know it will, we don't snap because we tried to hold everything with just the two of us. Braid your Spirit into the ordinary decisions of this week. In Jesus's name, amen.
Your Action Step
This week, choose one upcoming decision (wedding budget, a family conflict, a job move) and pray about it together out loud before either of you decides anything alone.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Aug 29, 2026 | Engaged & Dating
Reading Time: 5 minutesYou and your fiancé are touring a fixer-upper on a Saturday afternoon, phone flashlight out, crouching in the crawlspace because the listing mentioned “some foundation settling.” The kitchen is gorgeous. The floors are original hardwood. But he keeps pressing a level against the doorframe, watching the bubble drift off-center. “It’s a beautiful house,” he finally says, “built on a bad foundation.” You walk away without making an offer. Driving home, it hits you: you’ve been more careful vetting a house than you have been vetting what your own relationship is actually being built on.
Jesus said something strikingly similar at the very end of the Sermon on the Mount, after three chapters covering anger, lust, worry, prayer, and judgment — the most practical teaching he ever gave on how to actually live. He didn’t close with a nice metaphor for decoration. He closed with a warning about what happens to everything he’d just said if it never gets built into an actual life.
“Everyone therefore who hears these words of mine, and does them, I will liken him to a wise man, who built his house on a rock. The rain came down, the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat on that house; and it didn’t fall, for it was founded on the rock.” (Matthew 7:24-25)
Jesus goes on: everyone who hears these same words and doesn’t act on them is like a foolish man who built on sand — same storm, same rain, same wind, but “great was its fall” (v. 27). Two houses. Identical weather. The only variable is what’s underneath.
Notice what Jesus doesn’t say. He doesn’t say the wise man avoided storms. He doesn’t say faithful obedience buys you an easier life or calmer weather. Both houses get hit by the same rain, the same flood, the same wind. The difference between the couple whose relationship survives and the couple whose relationship collapses isn’t how many hard seasons they face — every relationship faces them — it’s what’s underneath the relationship when the storm arrives.
For a dating or engaged couple, “the rock” is easy to misidentify. You might assume the rock is chemistry — that spark that made you sure within a few dates. Chemistry is real and good, but it isn’t load-bearing; it fluctuates with sleep, stress, and season. You might assume the rock is compatibility — shared humor, similar backgrounds, comparable taste in the same shows. Compatibility makes a relationship pleasant, but it isn’t what holds a house up in a flood. You might even assume the rock is shared faith in the loosest sense — you both grew up in church, you both call yourselves Christians. That’s closer, but Jesus is more specific than that. He says the rock is hearing his words and doing them. Not agreeing with them. Not admiring them. Doing them.
That distinction matters enormously for engaged and dating couples, because it’s entirely possible to build a relationship that looks Christian from the outside — prayer before meals, a church you both attend, a Bible on the shelf — while the actual daily patterns underneath are built on something else: on always needing to win the argument, on withholding forgiveness until the other person grovels enough, on letting resentment sit instead of confessing it, on avoiding hard conversations because peace-at-any-cost feels safer than honesty. Those patterns are sand. They hold up fine on a clear day. They do not hold up when real weight is applied — a job loss, a miscarriage, a betrayal, a long illness, the ordinary erosion of years.
It’s worth noticing, too, that both builders in the parable had access to the same words. The foolish man wasn’t ignorant; he heard exactly what the wise man heard. Jesus isn’t describing a knowledge gap between the two houses — he’s describing an obedience gap. That should be sobering for any couple who assumes that because they know the right things, attend the right church, and can quote the right verses, their relationship is automatically well-founded. Head knowledge about what Christian love, patience, and forgiveness look like isn’t the same as a relationship actually practicing them under pressure. The rock isn’t information. It’s habituated obedience, formed slowly, in ordinary moments long before the flood ever arrives.
Building on the rock means something specific and unglamorous: it means when Jesus says forgive as you’ve been forgiven, you actually forgive, even when it costs you something. It means when he says love your neighbor as yourself, you extend that first to the person you’re marrying, not just to strangers who are easier to be generous with. It means when he says don’t let the sun go down on your anger, you don’t. Every one of those is a small, daily, often invisible act of construction. No one photographs a foundation. Everyone photographs the finished house. But the foundation is the only part of the house that determines whether there’s a house left standing after the storm.
This week, take twenty minutes together — not during an argument, on an ordinary evening — and ask each other honestly: what have we actually been building this relationship on? Name specifics. Maybe you’ll realize you’ve built real rock: you’ve practiced quick forgiveness after your last disagreement, you’ve been honest about a struggle instead of hiding it, you’ve prayed together even when it felt awkward. Name that and thank God for it. But also be willing to name the sand. Maybe you’ve been avoiding a conversation about a debt one of you is carrying because it’s easier not to bring it up. Maybe “compatibility” has quietly become your only load-bearing wall, and neither of you has actually practiced forgiving the other for something real. Naming sand isn’t an indictment of your relationship — it’s an invitation to start building somewhere sturdier before the wedding, not after the first storm hits. Pick one concrete practice from Jesus’s words — quick forgiveness, honest confession, patient listening — and commit to building it into this week, on purpose, together.
Think, too, about what it would look like to actually test the foundation you have on purpose, rather than waiting for a real crisis to reveal it. A couple preparing to marry can, in a sense, run a controlled drill: talk through how you’d respond if one of you lost a job tomorrow, if a parent got seriously ill, if a pregnancy didn’t go as planned. You’re not trying to predict the future or manufacture anxiety. You’re trying to notice, in a calm moment, whether your instinctive answers reflect Christ’s words — patience, honesty, mutual sacrifice — or reflect self-protection, blame, and control. Where you find sand in those hypothetical conversations, you now know exactly what to start rebuilding before an actual storm forces the question.
Every couple faces rain eventually. The question was never whether the storm would come — it was always what you’d been building on before it did. Start today. Rock doesn’t get laid overnight, but it gets laid one obedient choice at a time.
Reflect
- When you picture the storms most likely to test your relationship in the next five years — financial strain, family conflict, illness, disappointment — which one worries you most, and have you actually talked about it together?
- Which of Jesus's specific commands (forgiveness, honesty, patience, humility) have you practiced least with each other, even if you practice it easily with friends?
- Is there a pattern in your relationship right now that looks fine on the surface but you privately suspect wouldn't survive real pressure? What would it take to address it before the wedding?
A Prayer for Today
Lord, I don't want a relationship that only looks strong in good weather. Search us honestly — show me where we've built on sand without realizing it: on chemistry instead of character, on avoiding hard conversations instead of having them, on my own comfort instead of your words. Give me the courage to name what's underneath, even when it's not flattering. Teach me what it actually looks like to hear your words and do them with the person I love — to forgive quickly, to speak honestly, to choose patience when I'd rather win. When the storms come, and I know they will, let them reveal a foundation we built on purpose, together, with you. In Jesus's name, amen.
Your Action Step
This week, sit down together and name one specific area where your relationship has been resting on sand (avoidance, unresolved hurt, unspoken expectations) — then agree on one practical step to start building rock there before your next disagreement.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Aug 28, 2026 | Singles
Reading Time: 5 minutesShe stood in the middle of the empty apartment, sunlight falling across bare hardwood floors, trying to picture what her life would look like inside these walls. Not just the furniture — she’d figure that out eventually — but the actual atmosphere of the place. Would it be a home where Scripture got read out loud, where prayer happened before meals, where people felt welcome to show up unannounced? Or would it just be a place she slept between obligations, decorated but not really built around anything at all? She was single, no wedding on the horizon, and yet she realized this question mattered right now, not just someday when she had a spouse and kids to ask it about.
Joshua asked a version of that same question to an entire nation standing at a similar threshold — not moving into an apartment, but into a promised land full of competing gods and easier options.
Scripture in Context
Joshua 24 records the aging leader’s final address to Israel, delivered near the end of his life after decades of leading the nation through conquest and settlement into the land God had promised them. Surrounded by the religious practices of the nations around them, and even remnants of idolatry within their own families, Joshua calls the people to a decisive, public commitment.
“If it seems evil to you to serve Yahweh, choose today whom you will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that were beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you dwell; but as for me and my house, we will serve Yahweh.” (Joshua 24:15, WEB)
A Household Doesn’t Default to Godliness — Someone Decides It
An architect doesn’t discover what kind of building has been constructed by walking through it after it’s finished. The character of the building — where the light falls, how the rooms connect, what the space makes possible — was decided on paper, deliberately, long before the first wall went up. Nothing about a well-designed home happens by accident. Joshua’s declaration works the same way. He doesn’t wait to see what kind of household his family passively becomes. He decides it, publicly and in advance: “as for me and my house, we will serve Yahweh.” That’s a blueprint, spoken before the details ever get filled in.
This matters enormously for anyone preparing for a future marriage and family, married or still single. It’s tempting to think that a Christ-centered home is something that will simply happen once you’re married to the right person, in the right house, with the right routines eventually falling into place. Joshua’s example says otherwise. The character of a household — whether Christ is actually first in it, practically, not just in theory — is a decision made deliberately, usually well before all the pieces are even in place, and then reaffirmed daily against real competition. Joshua’s Israelites had “gods beyond the River” and “gods of the Amorites” quietly available as alternatives. Every household today has its own competing gods — busyness, comfort, career, screens, ambition — quietly available as the default if no one decides otherwise.
Notice, too, that Joshua’s declaration is personal and communal at once: “as for me” comes first, because he can’t build his household’s commitment on some future family’s decision — he starts by deciding for himself. That’s the piece that applies directly to singles preparing for a future home. You don’t have to wait for a spouse to co-sign this decision before you start living it. The kind of home you’ll help build later starts with the kind of household-of-one you’re building right now — what’s actually prioritized in your apartment, your schedule, your habits, when no one else is deciding it for you.
This connects to a broader biblical pattern about households and legacy. Moses instructs Israel to teach God’s commandments diligently to their children, talking about them “when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up” (Deuteronomy 6:7) — language describing an entire household culture, not an occasional lesson. That kind of culture doesn’t spring up automatically the week a couple has children. It’s built, habit by habit, in the years leading up to it, by people who decided in advance what they wanted their home to be known for. A home marked by hospitality, honesty, and worship isn’t a happy accident that occurs to lucky families. It’s the accumulated result of individual people, often while still single, deciding what kind of home they were building toward, and starting to practice it long before all the pieces arrived.
There’s real freedom in realizing this doesn’t require perfection or a finished plan. Joshua didn’t have a flawless track record when he made his declaration — he was leading a nation that had failed God repeatedly, and he knew it. His confidence wasn’t in his own consistency; it was in his decision to keep choosing, day after day, whom his household would serve. That’s an achievable standard for a single person building a home right now, one imperfect, repeatable choice at a time, rather than a polished ideal to be unveiled only once marriage arrives.
What This Looks Like This Week
Take the woman in the empty apartment. This week, deciding the “blueprint” of her future home doesn’t require a spouse or a completed nursery. It might mean establishing one small, repeatable rhythm now — reading Scripture at her kitchen table on Sunday mornings, praying before she eats even when she’s eating alone, keeping her door genuinely open to friends who need a place to land. These aren’t just personal habits. They’re the early architecture of the Christ-centered home she hopes to build later, practiced now so they’re not invented from scratch the week she’s suddenly sharing that home with someone else.
You don’t need a spouse, a house, or even a five-year plan to start deciding what kind of home you’re building toward. Like Joshua, you can declare it now, in the small ordinary choices of today’s household-of-one: as for me, I will serve the Lord. Everything else you build later can be built on top of that.
Reflect
- If someone walked through your home or apartment this week, what would they conclude about what you actually prioritize — is Christ visibly first, or just theoretically first?
- What single household rhythm (prayer, Scripture reading, hospitality) do you want your future home to have that isn't currently part of your life at all?
- Like Joshua, can you say 'as for me' about your own choices right now, without waiting for a future spouse to decide it with you first?
A Prayer for Today
Lord, like Joshua, I want to decide now what kind of home I'm building toward, instead of waiting to see what happens by accident. As for me, I choose to serve you — in my apartment, my schedule, my habits, today, not just in some future household I haven't built yet. Give me the discipline to start small rhythms of prayer, Scripture, and hospitality now, so they're not invented from scratch the day I share my home with someone else. Make my life, single or married, visibly built around you. Amen.
Your Action Step
Start one small, repeatable spiritual rhythm in your home this week — a set time for prayer, Scripture reading, or hospitality.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Aug 27, 2026 | Singles
Reading Time: 4 minutesThe spreadsheet had four tabs: venue, catering, florist, guest list. She’d spent eleven hours on it that week alone, comparing quotes for centerpieces while her fiancé researched wedding day timelines down to the minute. They were good at planning a wedding. Somewhere in all that logistics, though, neither of them had actually talked about what they were promising each other — not the vows they’d read off a card in front of everyone, but what those words were supposed to mean for the next forty years.
The prophet Malachi confronts a very different but related problem: people who had made covenant promises and then quietly stopped treating them as binding. His words are a sobering reminder of what a wedding is actually meant to establish.
Scripture in Context
Malachi was the last of the Old Testament prophets, writing to a post-exilic Israel that had grown spiritually complacent — going through religious motions while their actual lives told a different story. One of his sharpest rebukes addresses men who had broken faith with their wives, treating marriage as something they could walk away from when convenient.
“Yet you say, ‘Why?’ Because Yahweh has been witness between you and the wife of your youth, against whom you have dealt treacherously, though she is your companion and the wife of your covenant.” (Malachi 2:14, WEB)
A Wedding Creates a Ceremony. A Covenant Creates an Obligation.
Notice the specific language Malachi uses: “witness,” “covenant,” “companion.” Each word does real work. A witness is someone who watches a promise made and holds the parties accountable to it later — and Malachi says God himself fills that role at every wedding, not just the friends and family signing the marriage license. A covenant, in the ancient world, was categorically different from a contract. A contract is transactional and conditional — I’ll do this if you do that, and it dissolves when either side stops performing. A covenant is a binding commitment made regardless of shifting feelings or circumstances, sealed not by mutual benefit but by sworn faithfulness.
This is why Malachi’s word for what these men had done — “dealt treacherously” — is so severe. It’s not merely disappointing; it’s a betrayal of a sacred bond that God himself witnessed and holds sacred. The word “companion” adds another layer: this wasn’t a stranger they’d wronged, but the very person meant to walk through life beside them, the one they’d promised faithfulness to precisely because the road would be long and difficult.
For a couple planning a wedding, this passage is a necessary corrective to how much energy modern wedding culture pours into the ceremony versus the covenant it’s meant to establish. Flowers fade the week after the wedding. The covenant is what’s supposed to remain standing for the following fifty years. Malachi’s rebuke exists precisely because it’s possible to have exchanged vows in a beautiful ceremony and still, over time, stop treating the marriage as the binding, witnessed thing it actually is — quietly deciding, in ordinary daily choices, that convenience outranks covenant.
Preparing your heart for covenant rather than just a wedding means asking harder questions during engagement than the caterer ever will: Do I understand that this promise isn’t conditional on my future spouse continuing to meet my expectations? Am I prepared to stay faithful — emotionally, physically, practically — on the hard days, not just the photogenic ones? Do I believe God is genuinely watching and holding me to this, the way Malachi says he is? Those questions matter far more to the marriage’s future than any detail on the planning spreadsheet.
It helps to remember, too, that Malachi’s rebuke wasn’t delivered to strangers or outsiders. It was delivered to God’s own covenant people, who had once stood exactly where every engaged couple stands now — full of intention, presumably sincere on their wedding day. The warning exists precisely because good intentions at the altar don’t automatically produce faithfulness twenty years later. Covenant faithfulness has to be renewed deliberately, choice by choice, long after the initial commitment feels effortless. Preparing your heart for covenant now isn’t a one-time task you complete before the wedding and then set aside. It’s the beginning of a posture you’ll need to keep returning to for the rest of your life together — remembering, especially on the hard days, that you didn’t just plan a party. You made a promise, witnessed by God himself, to a person who is not a convenience but a companion.
This is ultimately good news, not just a warning. Malachi’s rebuke exists because God takes covenant seriously enough to call out its violation — but that same seriousness is exactly what makes his covenant with his people so trustworthy. The God who witnesses your marriage vow is the same God who has never once broken faith with his own covenant people, across thousands of years of their unfaithfulness. Preparing your heart for covenant isn’t just about girding yourself for a harder standard. It’s about anchoring your marriage in the character of a God who models, better than any human example could, exactly what it looks like to keep a promise no matter what it costs.
What This Looks Like This Week
Take that couple with the four-tab spreadsheet. This week, covenant preparation might mean setting the seating chart aside for one evening and instead writing out, separately, what “faithfulness” and “companionship” mean to each of them practically — not romantically, but in daily terms: how they’ll handle a hard season, a wandering eye, a period of low feeling toward each other. Then trading pages and talking through what they wrote. It’s a less glamorous evening than cake tasting. It’s also far closer to what the wedding is actually for.
Your wedding day will be over in a matter of hours. The covenant you make that day is meant to outlast it by decades. Spend this season preparing your heart for the promise, not just the party — God is already watching, already witnessing, already committed to holding you to something beautiful and binding.
Reflect
- How much of your current wedding planning energy is going toward the ceremony versus toward understanding what you're actually promising?
- Can you clearly articulate, in your own words, what 'faithfulness' and 'companionship' will practically require of you on a hard day, not just a good one?
- Do you believe God is genuinely a witness to your promises, the way Malachi describes? How would that belief change a decision you're facing right now?
A Prayer for Today
Lord, I don't want to plan a beautiful wedding and miss the covenant underneath it. Help me understand, before I make these vows, what I'm actually promising — not a feeling I hope to maintain, but a binding faithfulness I intend to keep on the hardest days as much as the easiest ones. Thank you that you are a witness to this covenant, not a distant observer of a ceremony. Prepare my heart now for companionship, not convenience; for faithfulness, not just a feeling. Let our marriage be built on the promise, long after the party is over. Amen.
Your Action Step
This week, set wedding logistics aside for one evening and write out together what faithfulness and companionship will practically mean in your marriage.
by Rev Dunamis Okunowo | Aug 26, 2026 | Singles
Reading Time: 5 minutesShe watched the wedding pictures scroll by on her phone — two people who’d seemed impossibly solid three years ago, now filing paperwork to end it. Nothing dramatic had happened, from what she’d heard. No affair, no single explosive event. Just years of two people quietly drifting, handling every hard season privately instead of together, never really building anything underneath the beautiful ceremony everyone remembered. She closed the app and found herself asking a question she hadn’t expected to ask at twenty-nine, still single: what actually makes a marriage able to survive?
Jesus answers that question directly, though he’s not talking about weddings at all. He’s closing out his most famous sermon with a parable about two builders and one unavoidable storm.
Scripture in Context
Matthew 7 ends the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus’s extended teaching on kingdom life — prayer, generosity, judgment, and true righteousness. He closes not with a summary but with a warning wrapped in a story: hearing his words is not the same as building on them.
“Everyone therefore who hears these words of mine, and does them, I will liken him to a wise man, who built his house on a rock. The rain came down, the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat on that house; and it didn’t fall, for it was founded on the rock.” (Matthew 7:24-25, WEB)
What’s Actually Holding Up a Marriage
Consider two trees standing side by side in a field, identical in height, identical in the fullness of their branches. From the outside, in calm weather, there’s no way to tell them apart. But one has spent years sending roots deep into the soil, unseen, unphotographed, unremarkable to anyone walking by. The other has stayed shallow, growing quickly but never digging down. The difference is invisible until the storm comes. Then only one is still standing.
Jesus’s parable makes the same point about two houses that likely looked identical when they were first built — same walls, same roof, same impressive facade. The difference wasn’t in what people could see on the day of construction. It was in the foundation, laid before the first wall ever went up, tested only later when rain, flood, and wind arrived — as they always eventually do.
Applied to marriage, this parable directly challenges the idea that a strong marriage is mostly about compatibility, chemistry, or a well-executed wedding day. Those are the visible walls. What Jesus says actually determines whether the house stands is what was built before the storm, unseen — specifically, “hearing these words of mine and doing them.” For a couple, and for each individual preparing for marriage, that means a life already shaped by obedience to Christ, already practiced in prayer, already rooted in Scripture — not a discipline you’ll pick up once the marriage needs rescuing.
This is why prayer specifically matters as marriage preparation, not just marriage maintenance. Prayer is one of the primary ways a foundation gets built before it’s tested — it’s how a person practices dependence on God rather than self-sufficiency, honesty rather than performance, humility rather than control, long before a spouse ever requires any of those things from them. A couple who begins praying together during dating or engagement isn’t just adding a nice ritual. They’re laying rock underneath a house that hasn’t been built yet, so that when the inevitable storm arrives — and it always does, for every marriage — there’s already something solid underneath it.
Waiting until a marriage is in crisis to start praying together is like trying to pour a foundation during the flood. It can be done, by God’s grace, but it’s infinitely harder than laying it in the calm, unhurried years beforehand.
It’s worth naming why prayer specifically, rather than just general spiritual interest, functions as this kind of foundation. Prayer is where a person practices honesty they can’t fake anywhere else — admitting weakness, confessing failure, asking for help they can’t manufacture on their own. A couple who prays together is, whether they realize it or not, practicing vulnerability with each other in the presence of God, which is a very different skill than simply getting along well or sharing common interests. It’s also where a couple practices remembering that their marriage ultimately isn’t sustained by their own effort, chemistry, or compatibility, but by a God who is bigger than both of them and their circumstances. That posture of dependence is precisely what Jesus’s parable is describing — hearing his words and doing them, not managing life by sheer competence.
This doesn’t require eloquence. Some of the most foundational prayers a couple ever prays are short, halting, even a little awkward — a whispered thank you before a meal, a request for patience before a hard conversation, a simple “help us” in a season of stress. The habit matters more than the polish.
It’s also worth saying that not every prayer laid in this season will feel powerful in the moment. Some of it will feel repetitive, some of it awkward, some of it like talking into silence. That’s normal, and it doesn’t mean the foundation isn’t being laid. Roots grow underground, unseen, long before there’s any visible fruit above the surface. The value of prayer as a foundation isn’t measured by how dramatic it feels on a given evening — it’s measured, years later, by whether it was there at all when the storm finally came.
What This Looks Like This Week
Take a couple, dating seriously but not yet engaged, who have never actually prayed out loud together — it’s felt too vulnerable, too soon. This week, foundation-laying might be as simple as one of them suggesting they pray together before parting ways after a date, even briefly and awkwardly at first. For someone still single with no relationship in view, it might mean establishing a personal, unhurried prayer rhythm now — not as a project to complete before a wedding, but as the rock-laying work of an entire life, married or not.
You cannot control the storms a future marriage will face. But you can, starting today, lay rock instead of sand, through a life and a relationship already practiced in prayer. When the wind comes, and it will, that unseen foundation will be exactly what holds.
Reflect
- Do you currently have a personal prayer rhythm that exists independent of a relationship, or has prayer mostly been something you imagine doing 'once you're married'?
- If you're dating or engaged, have you and your partner prayed out loud together yet? What's kept you from starting, or what has it looked like so far?
- What 'storm' have you already watched hit someone else's marriage, and what does it reveal about what you want to build underneath your own relationship now?
A Prayer for Today
Lord, I don't want to wait until a crisis forces me to start praying seriously about my relationships. Teach me to build a foundation of prayer now, in the calm, ordinary days, before any storm arrives. Whether I'm single or in a relationship, help me hear your words and actually do them, not just admire them from a distance. If I'm dating or engaged, give us the courage to pray together even when it feels awkward at first. Root my future marriage, and my life right now, on rock instead of sand. I want to still be standing when the winds come. Amen.
Your Action Step
This week, either start a personal daily prayer habit or, if you're in a relationship, initiate praying out loud together for the first time.
