On paper, Richard Paul Evans seemed like he should be one of the happiest men on earth. A father of five, the wildly successful fiction writer, whose name is often atop the New York Times bestseller list, seemed to have it all. Yet despite the impressively loyal readers, the lovely kids, and the nice house in Utah, Evans was miserable, and it stemmed from unhappiness in his marriage — something he recently
shared on his official website. Facebook / Richard Paul Evans
“My oldest daughter, Jenna, recently said to me, ‘My greatest fear as a child was that you and mom would get divorced. Then, when I was twelve, I decided that you fought so much that maybe it would be better if you did.’ Then she added with a smile. ‘I’m glad you guys figured things out.’”
It wasn’t easy. Evans and his wife, Keri, had seemed mismatched from their earliest days, and doomed to struggle almost from the start of their marriage.
“For years my wife Keri and I struggled. Looking back, I’m not exactly sure what initially drew us together, but our personalities didn’t quite match up. And the longer we were married the more extreme the differences seemed. Encountering ‘fame and fortune’ didn’t make our marriage any easier. In fact, it exacerbated our problems.”
Facebook / Keri DiSera Evans
The couple was fighting so much that Evans began to look forward to traveling book tours that would take him away from home, but the fights continued over the phone, and the couple’s moods became “perpetually defensive.” During one particularly passionate long-distance fight, Keri slammed down the phone on Evans in mid-yell. It was like an exclamation point that signaled an abrupt end.
“That’s when I turned to God. Or turned
on God,” writes Evans on his website. “I don’t know if you could call it prayer–maybe shouting at God isn’t prayer, maybe it is–but whatever I was engaged in I’ll never forget it. I was standing in the shower of the Buckhead Atlanta Ritz-Carlton yelling at God… Deep down I knew that Keri was a good person. And I was a good person. So why couldn’t we get along? Why had I married someone so different than me? Why wouldn’t she change?” Finally, hoarse and broken, I sat down in the shower and began to cry. In the depths of my despair powerful inspiration came to me. You can’t change her, Rick. You can only change yourself. At that moment I began to pray. If I can’t change her, God, then change me. I prayed late into the night. I prayed the next day on the flight home. I prayed as I walked in the door to a cold wife who barely even acknowledged me. That night, as we lay in our bed, inches from each other yet miles apart, the inspiration came. I knew what I had to do.