They Were Building a Beautiful Life—But Forgot to Build Each Other

Part 2 of The Greatest of These, inspired by 1 Corinthians 13.

There was a time—years ago—when Paul and Kathy would drive 30 minutes west after Sunday service, just to sit on the shore and watch the sun dip into the Gulf.

No agenda. No crowds. Just two paper cups of sweet tea, kicked-off shoes in the sand, and a quiet promise to always protect the joy they’d found in each other.

But somewhere in the decades that followed, that promise got buried beneath the busyness.

Now, 27 years into marriage—and nearly as long in ministry—Paul and Kathy were leading a thriving church. Three Sunday services. A midweek Bible study. Hospital visits. Counseling. Weddings. Funerals.

Their calendar was full.

But their hearts were growing distant.

Not with anger, not with bitterness—just a quiet, aching space where laughter used to live.

They had mountain-moving faith. They had vision. They had a call.

But somewhere along the way, they had stopped showing love to each other.

It was after a packed Wednesday night Bible study that Paul noticed it.

Rachel, a new staff member in her late 20s, stayed after to help stack chairs.

As they chatted, she shared how much the latest sermon series had impacted her.

“Your messages,” she said sincerely, “make me feel like God really sees me. You must spend a lot of time preparing—do you go away to meet with God? Like on retreat or vacation?”

Paul paused. He hadn’t taken a real vacation in years.

In the early days, he and Kathy would sneak away to the mountains for a full week—no phones, no meetings, just quiet time with God and each other.

Lately, even their conversations were mostly logistical—budgets, volunteer shifts, and Sunday prep.

Rachel smiled again. “You must be so disciplined.”

Paul smiled back, but it faded as she walked away.

She hadn’t crossed any lines.

She was simply present.

Attentive.

Engaged.

Something he realized he hadn’t been for Kathy in quite some time.

That same week, Kathy arrived early to prepare for the women’s prayer breakfast.

Jerome, a longtime church member and widower, stopped by with an extra coffee—her favorite blend.

“You’ve been working hard,” he said warmly, setting it beside her. “I hope Paul knows how lucky he is.”

She smiled, a little surprised.

“You’re beautiful,” Jerome added gently. “And a blessing to this church.”

Kathy thanked him and redirected the conversation. But the words clung to her heart.

When was the last time Paul had brought her coffee? Or said she looked beautiful, unprompted, unhurried?

Jerome hadn’t been inappropriate. But his kind words stirred something she hadn’t felt in a while: seen.

That night, Paul couldn’t sleep.

At 2:12 AM, he padded into the kitchen and found Kathy at the table with her planner and a cup of tea.

She looked tired. Still lovely, still steady—but distant.

There was a wall between them. Not built in a day, but stacked over months of ministry… and missed moments.

“I miss us,” Paul said softly.

She looked up, surprised. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

1 Corinthians 13:2 (AMP) says:

“And if I have all [sufficient] faith so that I can remove mountains, but do not have love [reaching out to others], I am nothing.”

The Message (MSG) echoes:

“…if I have faith that says to a mountain, ‘Jump,’ and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing.”

Paul and Kathy had been faithful to the work, but had grown neglectful of one another.

They had replaced love with logistics.

Replaced presence with performance.

Replaced connection with calendar slots.

And it nearly cost them the very thing their ministry was built on.

Paul called his assistant pastor and asked him to preach that Sunday.

He booked a cabin in the same mountain town where he and Kathy used to retreat. They packed light. Left their phones on the nightstand. And for the first time in years, they didn’t talk about the church.

They talked about each other.

About love. About life. About how they’d drifted. And how they didn’t want to lose what made them “them.”

Before they returned, Paul made two commitments:

• One week away together every year—non-negotiable.
• One date night every week—no ministry talk, just reconnection.

Because faith may grow churches…

But love grows marriages.

And without love, even the most gifted among us can become… nothing.

They didn’t need a sabbatical.

They needed a Sabbath for their marriage.

And from that sacred pause, their next chapter began—one of renewed intimacy, laughter, and the kind of love that speaks louder than any sermon.

Because love—real love—starts at home.

And it leads to Joy for a Lifetime.

Your Turn: Rekindle. Reflect. Recommit.

If you and your spouse have been drifting—not out of conflict, but out of busyness—you’re not alone.

Let this story be your reminder that love isn’t just a feeling. It’s a rhythm. A practice. A sacred choice.

Consider a vow renewal to mark your own season of recommitment—whether you’ve been married five years or fifty. It’s never too early—or too late—to say “I still do.”

Visit the Joy for a Lifetime YouTube channel and listen to a peaceful, heartfelt reading of 1 Corinthians 13 (The Message Version) to refocus your heart on what love truly is.

Want more inspiration? Read:

• Caught in the Middle—But Still on the Same Team
• Tomorrow Is Not Promised: Why You Should Renew Your Vows This Year.

Want to plan a meaningful vow renewal? Or just talk through how to reconnect?

Call or text Claudia at 813-239-4117

Let’s create a ceremony—or a conversation—that points you back to Joy for a Lifetime