When Love Changes: Growing Through the Seasons of Marriage
Every marriage begins with warmth—eyes locked at the altar, hands trembling with excitement, hearts full of hope. There’s mystery and magnetism in those early days, a kind of effortless gravity drawing two lives together. But the truth every couple eventually discovers is this: love changes. And that’s not a failure. That’s how it grows.
Our culture often teaches us to measure love by how it feels—how exciting, romantic, or fulfilling it is in any given season. But marriage, as the Church understands it, is not built on constant emotion. It’s built on covenant. And covenants don’t waver with the weather. They deepen with time.
As years unfold, the blush of new love gives way to something slower, sturdier, and yes—more sacred.
From Spark to Steadfast
In the early years, love dances. It surprises you with flowers, late-night conversations, and effortless laughter. But then life steps in—mortgages, children, aging parents, careers that steal too much time, health scares that come without warning. Suddenly, love has less room to dance. It has to learn how to carry.
And this is where many couples feel disoriented. “We don’t feel the way we used to.” “We’ve grown apart.” “We’re just roommates now.”
But here’s the truth hidden in the discomfort: you haven’t failed. You’ve entered a new season.One where love matures from poetry into practice.From feelings into faithfulness.
It’s the same love—but it’s learned how to suffer, how to forgive, how to wait. It’s learned to find beauty in wrinkled hands and patience in silent dinners. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t need fireworks to feel real—because it’s grounded in commitment, memory, and grace.
The God Who Stays
Scripture never idealizes human love. From Abraham and Sarah to Joseph and Mary, we see couples who journey together through change, loss, misunderstanding, and surprise. The Psalmist writes, “Your steadfast love endures forever” (Psalm 136)—not because it always feels romantic, but because it remains.
And that’s the kind of love marriage calls forth: a love that reflects God’s own fidelity.
In John 14, Jesus tells His disciples, “I go to prepare a place for you.” Even as He’s about to suffer, He’s thinking about their future. That’s covenant love—a love that looks ahead, prepares, sacrifices, and stays.
Marriage asks the same of us. It calls us to keep preparing places for each other, even when we’re tired. To keep making room in our hearts for the person we married—not the person we wish they were, but the person they are today.
Letting Love Grow Up
There’s a line from the poet Antoine de Saint-Exupéry that captures the shift perfectly:“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.”
As couples grow older, the relationship matures. It becomes less about intensity and more about intention. Less about being thrilled and more about being there.
That means finding new ways to connect: • Holding hands during prayer, even if words feel awkward. • Re-discovering each other in silence, not just conversation. • Laughing at old stories, grieving old wounds, celebrating small victories.
It also means making peace with what won’t be. The dreams that didn’t come true. The flaws that never got fixed. The romance that faded and returned—and faded again.
Marriage is not about preserving the past. It’s about choosing love in the present. Over and over again.
A Love That Prepares Us for Heaven
Catholic teaching has always held that marriage is not just for this life—it’s a school for eternal life. It’s where we learn how to love as God loves: faithfully, freely, fruitfully, and fully.And often, we learn that not in ease, but in effort.
The Church doesn’t canonize perfect marriages. It canonizes faithful ones.Couples who lived their vows in kitchens and hospital rooms, beside bedsides and over bills.Couples who stayed, not because it was always easy, but because grace made it possible.
If your marriage feels different now—quieter, older, more weathered—that may be a sign of its strength, not its weakness. Like a tree that once bloomed loudly in spring but now gives quiet shade in summer, your love has changed form. But it still gives life.
And it’s still holy.
In the End, Love Remains
Someday, one of you will bury the other. That, too, is part of the covenant. But the love you’ve nurtured—the love that has forgiven, endured, and grown—will not die. Because it was never yours alone to begin with. It was rooted in God.
And that love—changed though it may be—will have become the very thing it was always meant to be:a reflection of the eternal.
Our culture often teaches us to measure love by how it feels—how exciting, romantic, or fulfilling it is in any given season. But marriage, as the Church understands it, is not built on constant emotion. It’s built on covenant. And covenants don’t waver with the weather. They deepen with time.
As years unfold, the blush of new love gives way to something slower, sturdier, and yes—more sacred.
From Spark to Steadfast
In the early years, love dances. It surprises you with flowers, late-night conversations, and effortless laughter. But then life steps in—mortgages, children, aging parents, careers that steal too much time, health scares that come without warning. Suddenly, love has less room to dance. It has to learn how to carry.
And this is where many couples feel disoriented. “We don’t feel the way we used to.” “We’ve grown apart.” “We’re just roommates now.”
But here’s the truth hidden in the discomfort: you haven’t failed. You’ve entered a new season.One where love matures from poetry into practice.From feelings into faithfulness.
It’s the same love—but it’s learned how to suffer, how to forgive, how to wait. It’s learned to find beauty in wrinkled hands and patience in silent dinners. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t need fireworks to feel real—because it’s grounded in commitment, memory, and grace.
The God Who Stays
Scripture never idealizes human love. From Abraham and Sarah to Joseph and Mary, we see couples who journey together through change, loss, misunderstanding, and surprise. The Psalmist writes, “Your steadfast love endures forever” (Psalm 136)—not because it always feels romantic, but because it remains.
And that’s the kind of love marriage calls forth: a love that reflects God’s own fidelity.
In John 14, Jesus tells His disciples, “I go to prepare a place for you.” Even as He’s about to suffer, He’s thinking about their future. That’s covenant love—a love that looks ahead, prepares, sacrifices, and stays.
Marriage asks the same of us. It calls us to keep preparing places for each other, even when we’re tired. To keep making room in our hearts for the person we married—not the person we wish they were, but the person they are today.
Letting Love Grow Up
There’s a line from the poet Antoine de Saint-Exupéry that captures the shift perfectly:“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.”
As couples grow older, the relationship matures. It becomes less about intensity and more about intention. Less about being thrilled and more about being there.
That means finding new ways to connect: • Holding hands during prayer, even if words feel awkward. • Re-discovering each other in silence, not just conversation. • Laughing at old stories, grieving old wounds, celebrating small victories.
It also means making peace with what won’t be. The dreams that didn’t come true. The flaws that never got fixed. The romance that faded and returned—and faded again.
Marriage is not about preserving the past. It’s about choosing love in the present. Over and over again.
A Love That Prepares Us for Heaven
Catholic teaching has always held that marriage is not just for this life—it’s a school for eternal life. It’s where we learn how to love as God loves: faithfully, freely, fruitfully, and fully.And often, we learn that not in ease, but in effort.
The Church doesn’t canonize perfect marriages. It canonizes faithful ones.Couples who lived their vows in kitchens and hospital rooms, beside bedsides and over bills.Couples who stayed, not because it was always easy, but because grace made it possible.
If your marriage feels different now—quieter, older, more weathered—that may be a sign of its strength, not its weakness. Like a tree that once bloomed loudly in spring but now gives quiet shade in summer, your love has changed form. But it still gives life.
And it’s still holy.
In the End, Love Remains
Someday, one of you will bury the other. That, too, is part of the covenant. But the love you’ve nurtured—the love that has forgiven, endured, and grown—will not die. Because it was never yours alone to begin with. It was rooted in God.
And that love—changed though it may be—will have become the very thing it was always meant to be:a reflection of the eternal.