What does true spiritual growth look like in a Christian’s life?

True spiritual growth, in a Christian’s life, looks like real change over time, change in what I love, what I pursue, how I think, how I respond, and what I value. Scripture tells me to “grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (2 Pet 3:18), and that growth is not just information; it is transformation. It is what happens when I keep receiving Christ and then actually walk in Him, “rooted and built up in Him and established in the faith” (Col 2:6–7). In simple terms, spiritual growth looks like someone who no longer acts or behaves as they once did, because Christ is shaping them from the inside out (2 Cor 3:18). 

One of the clearest pictures of that growth is maturity. Paul explains it plainly: “When I was a child, I spoke as a child… but when I became a man, I put away childish things” (1 Cor 13:11). Hebrews expands that same idea and shows me what immaturity looks like: being stuck at the basics, needing “milk and not solid food,” staying “unskilled in the word of righteousness,” and never developing discernment (Heb 5:12–14). But maturity looks different: “solid food belongs to those who are of full age… who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern both good and evil” (Heb 5:14). So true growth is not me staying the same while claiming faith, it is me learning the Word, using it, and becoming more discerning and steady over time (1 Pet 2:2–3; 1 Tim 4:15). 

For me, the evidence of growth is that I can look back and honestly say I am not the same man I used to be. I used to pursue what the world offers as if it could satisfy my soul, what Scripture calls “the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life” (1 John 2:15–17). I chased the “works of the flesh,” thinking they would fill the empty places in me, but I learned the hard way that the flesh never truly satisfies; it only keeps demanding more. Coming to faith in Christ opened my eyes to how temporary those pursuits are, and how they can quietly dominate us. That is part of what Scripture means when it says not to be “conformed to this world, but… transformed by the renewing of your mind” (Rom 12:2). My mind started changing, and over time, my appetites started changing too. 

Today, I sit here writing this response not because I have to, as if it were some cold obligation, but because I want to live a life that makes sense in light of what Christ has done for me. I do feel a responsibility to speak truth and point people to God’s Word, but the deeper motivation is gratitude and love. I believe God is still working in me: “He who has begun a good work… will complete it” (Phil 1:6). I also know that any increase I have is not because I am impressive; “God gave the increase” (1 Cor 3:6–7). That keeps me grounded. True growth is not self-worship; it is dependence, abiding in Christ like a branch in the vine, because “without Me you can do nothing” (John 15:1–5). 

True spiritual growth also shows up in fruit, not just talk. If the Holy Spirit is truly at work in me, He will produce what I cannot consistently produce on my own: “love, joy, peace… kindness… self-control” (Gal 5:22–23). That fruit does not appear overnight, and I still stumble at times, but the direction of my life changes. I increasingly want to please the Lord, not myself. I increasingly want truth, not excuses. I increasingly want to “speak the truth in love” and “grow up in all things into Him… Christ” (Eph 4:15). I increasingly want to put off the old patterns and put on the new life, “put off… the old man… be renewed… and… put on the new man” (Eph 4:22–24; Col 3:9–10). That is not perfection in a moment; it is progress in a direction. 

Finally, true spiritual growth looks like living with eternity in view. I still live in this world, but I do not want the world to rule me. My heart is learning to live for what lasts, not what flashes. I press forward, like Paul described: “forgetting those things which are behind… I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (Phil 3:13–14). The more I grow, the more I see that living for myself is a miserable cycle of chasing what never satisfies. But living by the Spirit produces steadiness, endurance, and hope (Rom 5:3–5; James 1:2–4). So, when I ask what true spiritual growth looks like in my life, I would say this: it is the Lord changing my will, renewing my mind, producing His fruit in me, and teaching me to live today with the end in mind, so that my life is not about what I can gain right now, but about faithfully walking with Christ and helping others see Him too. 

The Risks of Rushing Into Marriage: What You Don’t Learn Will Hurt You Later

Rushing into marriage is risky because it turns a covenant into a decision driven by urgency, emotion, loneliness, pressure, lust, or fear, rather than knowledge, wisdom, and sober judgment. Scripture warns us plainly that “it is not good for a soul to be without knowledge, and he sins who hastens with his feet” (Prov 19:2). When we move too fast, we often skip the very thing that protects us: careful planning and honest evaluation. “The plans of the diligent lead surely to plenty, but those of everyone who is hasty, surely to poverty” (Prov 21:5). That poverty is not only financial; it can become emotional, relational, spiritual, and generational. A rushed marriage often means we build a life with someone we never truly examined, and then we pay for it later in confusion, resentment, and disappointment. 

That is why I strongly believe premarital counseling matters. Without it, many couples never truly learn about their future spouse because we are not being fully honest and transparent with each other. We can date, laugh, and feel close, yet still hide our fears, baggage, habits, family patterns, finances, expectations, sexual history, anger issues, addictions, and spiritual maturity. Premarital counseling forces the hard questions into the light. Scripture says, “He who answers a matter before he hears it, it is folly and shame to him” (Prov 18:13). Many of us “answer” the marriage question too soon, before we have truly heard the whole story. Wisdom does the opposite: “The prudent considers well his steps” (Prov 14:15) and “ponders the path of your feet” (Prov 4:26). Counseling is one of the most practical ways we slow down, listen, and gather the knowledge we need before we make vows we cannot casually revise later (Prov 20:25; Eccles 5:2). 

Scripture also teaches us to “count the cost” before we build anything that must last (Luke 14:28–30). Marriage is not a weekend plan; it is a lifelong house. So I don’t rush into building, I prepare. “Prepare your outside work, make it fit for yourself in the field; and afterward build your house” (Prov 24:27). Premarital counseling helps us do that “field work” first: Are we aligned in faith and direction? “Can two walk together, unless they are agreed?” (Amos 3:3). Are we pursuing a relationship the Lord warns against, like being unequally yoked? (2 Cor 6:14; Deut 7:3–4). Are we being careful to seek counsel rather than isolating in emotion? “Without counsel, plans go awry, but in the multitude of counselors they are established” (Prov 15:22), and “in the multitude of counselors there is safety” (Prov 11:14). Rushing often rejects counsel because counsel slows us down, and that is exactly why counsel protects us. 

When we rush, we also become vulnerable to deception, sometimes by others, and often by our own hearts. Jacob’s story shows how quickly a marriage can turn into a painful surprise when clarity and protection are missing (Gen 29:15–30). Samson shows what happens when desire leads, and wisdom follows: “Get her for me, for she pleases me well” (Judg 14). That is not discernment; that is impulse. Solomon shows the long-term spiritual danger of ignoring God’s warnings in the marriage choice: “Surely they will turn away your hearts after their gods” (1 Kings 11:1–8; Deut 7:3–4). And Scripture reminds me that sexual passion is real, but it is not the same thing as readiness. Yes, “it is better to marry than to burn with passion” (1 Cor 7:8–9), but that does not mean we should marry the first person who triggers our desire. Song of Solomon warns us not to “stir up nor awaken love until it pleases” (Song 8:4). In other words, timing and wisdom matter. 

So what can happen if we rush into marriage without thinking it through? We can bind ourselves to someone we do not truly know (Prov 19:2), devote ourselves rashly and later regret vows we should have approached with fear and sobriety before God (Prov 20:25; Eccles 5:2), ignore wise counsel and walk into foreseeable trouble (Prov 15:22; Prov 27:12; Prov 22:3), and create strife that did not need to exist if we had slowed down and learned how to communicate, plan, and resolve conflict early (Prov 17:14; James 1:19). That is why premarital counseling is not a “nice extra.” It is one of the best tools we have to reveal what is hidden, align expectations, and make sure we are not building a house without a foundation. “Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it” (Ps 127:1). If we want a marriage that lasts, we do not rush; we seek the Lord, seek counsel, count the cost, and insist on honest answers before we speak lifelong vows. 

When we take our marriage vows, do we really understand what they are?

When we take our marriage vows, do we really understand what they are? If I answer that honestly, I would say: most of us do not fully understand them, not at the moment we speak them. We understand their hope, the romance of them, and the intention behind them, but Scripture shows that marriage vows are not merely emotional words; they are covenant words spoken before God. Ecclesiastes warns me that when I make a vow to God, I must not treat it lightly: “Pay what you have vowed, Better not to vow than to vow and not pay” (Eccles 5:4–5). That alone should sober us. A vow is not a sentimental moment; it is a sacred promise that will require a lifetime of faithfulness. 

Scripture defines marriage as a God-joined, one-flesh covenant. “A man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and they shall become one flesh” (Gen 2:24), and Jesus repeats this as the blueprint of marriage: “They are no longer two but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let not man separate” (Matt 19:4–6; Mark 10:6–9). That means our vows are not merely promises to each other; they are a commitment to a union that God recognizes, protects, and holds accountable. Malachi makes this explicit: “The Lord has been witness between you and the wife of your youth… your wife by covenant” (Mal 2:14), and then it warns us not to deal treacherously, because God takes covenant-breaking seriously (Mal 2:14–16). So, when we say “till death do us part,” we are stepping into a covenant that Scripture treats as binding and honorable (Heb 13:4), not casual or disposable. 

That is precisely why premarital counseling is not optional wisdom; it is preventative mercy. If vows are covenant words, then we should not walk into them blind. In premarital counseling, the questions will surface what we often do not know how to ask on our own, each person’s ideals, hopes, dreams, desires, fears, and, if we are wise, honest transparency about our past. Counseling forces clarity, and clarity protects us from unnecessary pain later, because expectations, spoken or unspoken, are often what frustrate us. When my spouse does not meet the expectations I quietly assumed, I can begin to interpret normal differences as betrayal, when the real issue is that I never made those expectations visible. Scripture calls us to integrity in our words: “Let your ‘Yes’ be ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No,’ ‘No’” (Matt 5:33–37). Premarital counseling is one of the most practical ways we learn to speak clearly before resentment becomes the language of the home. 

And counseling matters because marriage is stewardship. I cannot enter marriage thinking my spouse exists to complete me or serve my preferences. Biblically, marriage calls me to a death-to-self posture. Paul frames the model by pointing to Christ: “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her” (Eph 5:25–28). That is not mere affection; that is sacrificial care. And Paul adds that marriage reflects a holy picture: “This is a great mystery, but I speak concerning Christ and the church” (Eph 5:31–33). If Christ gave Himself for us, then I cannot claim to love my spouse while clinging to selfishness. A vow means I am agreeing, before God, to lift my spouse up, to protect what God entrusted to me, and to treat that trust as sacred. 

This stewardship mindset is why Scripture repeatedly pushes us toward mutual honor and understanding. We are told to submit “to one another in the fear of God” (Eph 5:21). Wives are called to respect and order their lives “as to the Lord” (Eph 5:22–24), and husbands are called to love in a way that nourishes and cherishes (Eph 5:28–33). Peter presses the same point with a sober warning: “Husbands, likewise, dwell with them with understanding… as being heirs together of the grace of life, that your prayers may not be hindered” (1 Pet 3:7). That tells me I cannot treat my spouse harshly and then expect spiritual health. Marriage is lived before God and is answered to God. 

So, do we truly understand our vows when we speak them? Most of us do not fully. But Scripture gives us the path to understanding: we learn by taking the covenant seriously, by seeking clarity before we promise, and by entering marriage as stewardship, not entitlement. We learn by honoring the one-flesh union God created (Gen 2:24), by guarding the covenant God witnesses (Mal 2:14–16), by keeping our words faithful (Eccles 5:4–5; Matt 5:33–37), and by modeling our love after Christ’s self-giving love (Eph 5:25–28). And as we do, our vows stop being ceremonial words and become a living commitment, daily, practical, and accountable, until death parts us (Song 8:6–7).