Chris Watkins: What Divorce Taught Me About Getting Married

Getting married the first time was a bigger event than the second time, yet I gave much more consideration to the second wedding. Not the ceremony, but the marriage. The first wedding was relatively easy. Show up to rehearsal, stand where I was told, recite the words slowly and carefully and promise to be on time for the wedding. The ceremony was scheduled to begin at 7 o’clock. I arrived at 6:55. A whole five minutes early. I don’t remember being very nervous, just ready for the whole wedding thing to be over with. I was happy to be marrying my bride; I just have never been interested in ceremonies. They seem to me to be occasions that people expect to go perfectly, but rarely do.

I used to play piano with area bands and on occasion a scheduled musician would fail to appear. After the obvious panic would diminish, the attending musicians would have to scramble to fill the necessary positions. Arguably, the most crucial being the drummer. On one such occasion we were without a drummer. The guitar player looked at me in desperation and said, “Can you play the drums?” I said, “Sure.” An immediate look of relief covered his previously distressed face. As he was walking away I mumbled loud enough for him to hear, “How hard can it be?” A small twinge of distress returned to his countenance and he remained unsure of my drumming abilities until the sound checks began.

“How hard can it be?”

I knew how to play the drums, so muttering that sentence in that circumstance was funny, at least to me it was. It is not so comical to carry that sentiment into a marriage. I was not overly concerned with my ability to be a good husband. I knew that I was in love with Missy and that I would do whatever was necessary to make a living. I was not just confident that we would “make it”, I never gave failure a second thought. I knew many people less focused than us and they seemed to be doing just fine. My Mom liked Missy and Missy’s parents liked me. We chose to live in our hometown. We took turns going to school at NMSU and working. After four years of marriage we had a child. He was a happy, healthy bundle of joy. Everybody fell in love with him and grandparents clamored for time with little Tyler Chase. Everything was working out like clockwork. I told you so. After all, how hard can it be?

To make a long story short, Missy graduated from NMSU with a teaching degree, I surrendered to full time ministry, we moved to New Orleans so I could attend seminary, I graduated, began pastoring and we had a second child, Elijah Roy, named after my grandfather. During this time period there were many major life changes for us. Financially, geographically and, most importantly, emotionally. We had been married over ten years at that point and would you believe me if I told you we hardly ever fought? It’s true. We very rarely got mad at each other and had to reach a compromise. When Missy was aggravated with me, she would indicate that to me through non-verbal communication. Closing doors and cabinets a little quicker. Walking a little faster. Talking a lot less while voicing carefully chosen words through a differently shaped mouth.

My response? Let sleeping dogs lie. I figured the whole “Don’t start nuthin’, won’t be nuthin’” strategy was the wiser choice. Some psychologists call this “packing it away”. Another valuable piece of wisdom I gained from divorce is never pack away relational conflict. It will come out sooner or later. My tendency was to simply allow the conflict to fade away and tomorrow will be another day. However, I was building a time bomb that would surface later in our lives.

When Cindy and I decided to get married, I determined within myself, and communicated to her, that I would never again pack away feelings and concerns that need to be addressed. I would be vocal about them and risk the possibility of relational conflict.

I decided to approach marriage differently this time, from the beginning. The whole “how hard can it be” mentality proved to be fatal in my first marriage. I learned, the hard way, that being a good husband is not a natural ability. It is a chosen discipline. Being a good husband requires that I address situations in our relationship that I view to be detrimental.

Catch for us the foxes,
the little foxes
that ruin the vineyards,
our vineyards that are in bloom.
Song of Solomon 2:15

A good husband watches the vineyard for the little foxes that would come in and eat the blooms, thereby stealing the fruit that would have grown on the vine. Note the word little. The principle that Solomon is promoting in this text is that a good husband is proactive in his marriage. When I see a little fox creeping in, I must catch him and treat him as a threat. This is rarely an easy task because sometimes it requires a couple to have a fierce conversation.

Cindy and I have had many more difficult conversations in our marriage than I ever had with Missy. Yet I have to say that even though it is sometimes difficult to do, I have found that reaching a mutual understanding is extremely valuable in any relationship, especially a marriage. Notice I said mutual understanding, not agreement. Agreement is better, but understanding is necessary. It is always healthy to work towards agreement, but sometimes a mutual understanding will help both parties to find a way to meet somewhere in the middle.

Going into my present marriage, I decided immediately to do better at understanding and being understood. This not only creates a much better marriage, it also promotes stability in me as an individual. Any quality relationship is one that is forged, not just found. In order to be a good husband, one must stand watch, spot the foxes and resolve to protect the blossoms early in the relationship so that the promised fruit may arrive in due time.