Rare Faith isn’t just about paying the bills. It’s about healing hearts, too.

My friend Christine got divorced—and later remarried the same man.

This is her true story.

By Christine Marie Jones

If you're struggling in your marriage, I want to share some of my own missteps—so maybe you don’t have to make the same ones.

My husband and I married in 1973. In the beginning, most of our energy went toward worrying about money. We had agreed I would stay home with the kids while he worked, and we stuck to that plan. But about three years in, it became clear that one income wasn’t enough. I started working two jobs while still raising our sons, trying to give them the best life I could.

My husband and I never quite aligned on what mattered most when it came to providing for our family. I felt frustrated by his lack of motivation to improve our financial situation. So I worked harder. And the more I worked, the more burned out I became. That exhaustion slowly turned into resentment. Eventually, resentment turned into anger.

Anger wasn’t a feeling I knew how to handle. Looking back, I see that I was pushing it down—calling it something else and pretending it wasn’t there.

A few years into our marriage, I began studying the lives of successful people—folks like Anthony Robbins and Jack Canfield. Their ideas gave me hope. I started to believe there was more to life than being sick with money worries. I discovered the power of vision and belief. I applied what I was learning to my long-standing battle with weight. Over two years, I lost 100 pounds and kept it off (give or take the six pounds that like to come and go depending on my stress levels). That success gave me fuel to chase a better financial future—and I was absolutely bent on making it happen.

But looking back now, I can see that this was the beginning of the unraveling of my marriage.

I tried so hard to get my husband on board with my vision. These weren’t selfish desires—they were good, righteous goals. Why wouldn’t he want them, too? I didn’t understand. The more I talked about our future, dragged him to meetings, and threw myself into making it all happen… the more he pulled away. Yes, he came to some things, but I could feel the resistance—and that only made me angrier.

Over time, the emotional distance between us grew. I became deeply depressed (so did he, but I didn’t see that at the time). After 26 years together, I made the heartbreaking decision to leave—even though we had been sealed in the Temple. There were other contributing factors, but the biggest thing I see now—this is huge—is that my underlying anger kept me from feeling the Spirit.

Anger is sneaky. When it runs under the surface, it can block the very thing you need most: spiritual clarity. “Behold, this is not my doctrine, to stir up the hearts of men [or women] with anger…” (3 Nephi 11:30). I wish I’d taken that to heart sooner. But instead, I let my heart stir. And once you have people around you ready to jump on your side of the fence, well… that’s a recipe for a broken relationship.

If you had known us, you probably wouldn’t have guessed there was anger involved. We didn’t scream. We didn’t throw insults. Even after the divorce, we stayed kind to each other. But our children still suffered—no matter how much I tried to package the whole thing up in a “mature and peaceful” way. They were older, yes—but it still hurt. We told ourselves it was the right thing to do. That we were just too different. That it was too hard to keep trying. That we’d be happier apart.

Or so we thought...

For years, I ran a thriving Bowen therapy practice. Many of my clients felt like family. I had the privilege (and sometimes the heartbreak) of watching many of them face marital struggles. I could often see the signs before they did. And because they trusted me, I got to hear both sides of their stories.

What I learned was humbling. Most of the time, there wasn’t a “bad guy.” Just layers of misunderstanding. I remember thinking—Are these people even in the same relationship? The disconnect was that deep. I was watching Satan at work. And inside each of their stories, I saw glimpses of my own.

Now, fast forward eleven years past our divorce.

It would take days to tell you everything that happened in that time. We both changed—a lot. To me, it felt like years of growing pains. But because we had stayed friends (we worked at that), we still visited from time to time.

One day, during one of those visits, he asked if we could talk privately. That request made me nervous. But I agreed...

We were walking along a path near his home when he gently asked if I would consider coming back to him. He wanted to remarry me.

My heart stopped.

I have to admit—my first instinct was to run in the opposite direction. In a flash, our entire past life together flooded my mind: the good, the bad, and the downright painful. But I could feel his sincerity. I still cared about him—he was the father of my children. But the feelings of love I once had? I was sure they were long gone.

Or so I thought…

Still, something stirred in me. Something impressed upon my heart (and we both know who that was) that I needed to go to the Temple and pray about this life-altering question. Honestly, it was only by the grace of God that I felt willing to even consider it.

I told him I’d need a few days to think and pray. I planned to fast and take it to the Temple. So, I did. I felt resistant. I was afraid. But I was also humble.

As I sat in the Celestial Room, praying for guidance, I heard these words: “trust him.”

What? I remember thinking, What exactly does that mean?

But in that same moment, I felt peace wash over me. It was undeniable. I walked out of the Temple with a completely different feeling than the one I had walked in with. My heart had changed—completely.

Honestly, if you’d told me beforehand that this would happen, I wouldn’t have believed you for a second.

I told him yes—with one condition: I would need time to get my feet under me again. When we told our now-adult children (some with kids of their own), they were happy for us. But one response, in particular, stuck with me. Our youngest said, “I don’t know how I feel about this—you two are so different—and I don’t want to go through that again.”

That comment reminded me just how painful our separation had been—not just for us, but for the entire family.

I’ve thought about those words—“trust him”—so many times since that day in the Temple. I’ve come to realize how much of a control freak I was during our marriage. The truth is, I didn’t trust him. That lack of trust was a big reason I over-functioned, constantly trying to fill in the gaps. I felt like the Lone Ranger—and I didn’t even have Tonto.

So, where was the Lord in all of this? I was praying. I was trying. So what happened?

He was there. I just couldn’t hear the whisperings of the Spirit clearly. Why? Like I mentioned earlier—anger and resentment.

How could I receive a clear message when I was unknowingly running an anger program in the background?

I couldn’t acknowledge my true feelings because they didn’t feel “acceptable.” And worse, I felt justified in them. But here’s the thing: you can’t change something you refuse to acknowledge.

I judged myself for being angry. So I stayed in denial, all the while becoming more and more desensitized to the Spirit I so desperately needed.

We were remarried in 2009.

Now let me tell you—it’s not easy keeping a remarriage strong, especially with the same person. The old issues don’t just magically disappear. If you don’t plan for them, they have a way of resurfacing and pulling you right back into crisis mode.

Just this past year, we hit one of our biggest challenges since getting back together. If we hadn’t faced it head-on, it could’ve led us right back down a very dangerous path.

My husband had retired, and we’d moved to another state. I now work remotely from home, so we were together all the time. Add in the financial ripple effects from his business taking a hit during COVID, and suddenly, old money stress started creeping back in. It all felt… familiar.

He was cranky. I was irritated. And retirement, as we’ve learned, comes with its own bag of emotional surprises.

So I began praying—hard. I asked the Lord to help me release the anger that was bubbling back up toward my husband. And I’m so grateful. Slowly but surely, my heart began to soften again.

There’s something Leslie often says that took me a while to fully grasp. But I think I finally get it now:

“You can’t break a law; You can only break yourself against it.”

That truth hit me deep. I want to share how I came to see that instead of using the “laws of our being” for our benefit—as James Allen puts it in As a Man Thinketh—I had been breaking myself against them.

One of the ways I did that was through the law of relativity.

I broke myself against it by constantly comparing our marriage to those around me—couples who seemed united in their goals, who took the kinds of vacations we didn’t, who didn’t seem to worry about money. I let those comparisons breed frustration.

But what if I had known then to “pray to see things differently,” like Leslie teaches in Hidden Treasures? What if I had paused to feel gratitude for what I did have? What if I had seen, in contrast, that I didn’t have the kind of marriage the neighbor down the street had—one filled with cold silence or outright cruelty?

Where your focus goes, energy flows.

If I had focused on gratitude instead of lack, I would have seen things differently. I would have felt differently. Because focusing on lack didn’t uplift me—it made me bitter. And bitterness doesn’t help anyone.

It doesn’t support faith. It doesn’t keep you grounded in gratitude.

Now, I make a conscious effort to seek peace in my present circumstances. I do my best to feel grateful for everything—even the hard stuff. Because I’ve learned something powerful from the scriptures:

The Lord can turn all of it—every single part—for good.

Here’s where I broke myself against the law of cause and effect:

There were times when I made extra efforts to draw closer to my husband—like spending hours preparing all his favorite dishes for dinner—and he didn’t seem to notice. I’d end up feeling upset and defeated. Looking back, I see now that I broke myself against this law by allowing disappointed expectations to spiral into resentment.

But what if I had used the law right—to remember that Heavenly Father saw my effort? He knew the love I put into that meal, the intention behind every little act. Yes, I may have felt ignored in that moment, but I could have rested in the belief that it’s better to focus on what I can give.

Good things don’t always come back when we want them to. But they do come back.

When I remember that, I can stay in a higher vibration—and that brings me to the next law I broke: the law of vibration.

I see now that while I was carrying around all that unprocessed anger, I was radiating a low, heavy energy. And I was putting a lot of emotion behind that energy. Who would want to be around that? How could I possibly create the kind of relationship I longed for from that place?

I wasn’t even aware of my vibration—much less how it was affecting the way I stayed stuck in a painful relationship. It makes me cringe to think how this may have affected my kids.

What if I had paid closer attention to my thoughts? What if I’d made a conscious effort to keep thoughts that were aligned with the marriage I so deeply desired?

How many years of pain might I have avoided?

Now, I’m not pretending that would’ve made everything perfect—hard times are a part of life. But I could’ve given those hard times a different meaning. A more hopeful one.

I’ve come to understand that my husband had his own agency. I couldn’t control that. But what I could control was the person I was becoming. I never wanted to be the limiting factor in our marriage.

This scripture has always been a favorite, but now it holds even deeper meaning:

“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.” (Philippians 4:8)

What if I had consistently followed Paul’s counsel? What if I had trained my mind to dwell on those things?

I also broke myself against the law of gestation.

How? By failing to remember that fragile relationships—like seeds—need time to grow and mature. When I let impatience and fear take over, I was no longer trusting. Where was my faith then?

And what if I had honored the law of rhythm? What if I had reminded myself that better times were on their way, even when things felt stuck or heavy?

What if I had truly understood the law of polarity?

Even in the darkest, most hopeless moments, I could have reminded myself that if life could feel that bleak… it was also capable of being that beautiful.

I would’ve been watching for the good instead of bracing for the worst.

With the law of relativity, I now see that constantly focusing on what I lacked only made me feel worse.

And that serves no one. Not me, not my family.

It didn’t help me think faithful thoughts. It didn’t help me stay in a space of gratitude.

Now, I try to be grateful for everything—even the hard stuff. Because scripture teaches us that “all things work together for good to them that love God.” What peace that brings when I start to feel down.

When I serve my husband—or anyone else—I try to do it without expecting something in return. That doesn’t mean I never get disappointed, but when I stay in that selfless place, I feel peace. I show up as the kind of person I want to be.

Now, with the tools I’ve gained, I’m able to manage my thoughts better. I notice when I’m starting to slide down the rabbit hole of negativity. I shift by focusing on how I want to feel instead.

When I stay intentional—rather than letting old patterns run on autopilot—I rise into a higher vibration.

And I love that feeling.

It took a long time and a lot of practice to get here.

For a while, I wrestled with guilt over how long I’d lived unaware—breaking the laws and wondering why life felt so hard. But staying in guilt doesn’t help. After all, I didn’t know that my thoughts and expectations were creating the very results I didn’t want.

Now, to stay grounded, I go back to Hidden Treasures and reread my highlighted sections. I visit the Rare Faith website when I need a boost of inspiration. I pop in one of Leslie’s CDs, lie down, and let myself dream.

I check in with myself. I stay clear on what I truly desire—in this case, a loving relationship.

I practice daily repentance.
And most of all, I pray.

It’s been twelve years now since we remarried.

We have a running joke that dating sites like eHarmony would’ve never matched us.

It takes real work to stay together.

But with God’s help—and by choosing to release unprocessed anger so I can hear His promptings—I’ve found a deeper, more abiding love for my husband.

When my anger lifted, he could finally see the places he needed to grow. I got out of the way so God could work through him.

I feel incredibly blessed to have been given the chance to try again.

But I also know that not every marriage can or should be saved. And if ours hadn’t been, I’d still be grateful for the growth, the healing, and the chance to become a better version of myself—with God’s help.

I want to say here that I’m eternally grateful to Leslie. She has been such a powerful force for good in my life. I’m also deeply grateful to Trevan and Cari. The lessons they’ve taught me—through their stories and their example—have changed me and my family.

And I’m so thankful to my husband for allowing me to share our deeply personal story.

Like I mentioned earlier, back when we were struggling financially, I started studying success principles. I learned a lot that helped me push forward and achieve things I never thought I could.

But there were still things I just didn’t get.

It wasn’t until I read Leslie’s Hidden Treasures that it all started clicking. I finally saw the missing pieces.

Now, with Leslie’s programs, I have a system to follow—one that helps me internalize these laws of success and actually live by them. I can either use them to build a better life… or break myself against them.

Healing from the bruises I gave myself took time.

But now that I know how to work with the laws instead of against them, everything is different. Even my marriage is in a much happier, healthier place.

And that, to me, is an answer to a very humble prayer.

Christine Marie

Fun update from Leslie:
After I created this post and sent Christine the link to her story, she replied:

Me again, one more quick thing. The picture you put with my story, was so perfect. The day after our 2nd wedding we went to Monterey. Larry drew a heart in the sand that looked so much like the picture you chose. What are the odds. I just had to share.