My “interfaith ­relationship” has endured for 53 years. My husband, Dale, is an agnostic/atheist/nontheist (his self-description has changed over the years), and I am a committed Christian active in my church.

I knew going into the marriage that he had serious doubts about faith, but I did not fully appreciate then what I now understand. We were involved together at church for the first 10 to 12 years of our marriage, and then he “came out” as a non-Christian and stopped attending church with me and our children. I’ve been practicing my faith and going to church by myself ever since.

For many years, we didn’t talk that much about our differences (it was what it was), but more recently he has become far more verbally “out there” in his honest and understandable desire to be seen and known for who he really is — especially in the context of our mutual friends, most of whom are Christians.

I used to feel guilty for being “unequally yoked” and unable to be the believing wife by whom the unbelieving husband would be saved. Long ago, however, it became clear to me that our marriage was not going to work if he always felt like I was trying to save him. So I don’t, and I’m OK with that. But I am still constantly caught between the man I love and respect and the faith in which I grew up.

He is not shy about expressing his incredulity at the beliefs I and other Christians hold that make no sense to him. After a Christmas Eve service we attended together a couple of years ago, he asked about the biblical Christmas story as we were driving home: “How much of that stuff do you think actually happened?” — the implication being that none or little of it did. My answers rarely satisfy him and, quite frankly, don’t always satisfy me either.

One of the things we had in common all those years ago was that I, too, was struggling with my faith. We had grown up in similar households (he a pastor’s kid, I a missionary kid) and recognized kindred spirits in each other. The Christian college we attended stirred up questions of faith in me. For him, it didn’t help to answer the questions he’d had since childhood.

Those questions have been somewhat resolved for me. I have chosen to believe in God, to model my life on the life and teachings of Jesus and to be part of the church, although I still have questions that feel unanswerable.

The challenge is ongoing, but I’ve learned a lot that I might not have otherwise.

First, I believe that God is much bigger than I can imagine. (In college, I read J.B. Phillips’ Your God Is Too Small, and I’ve never forgotten it.)

Second, I hope I’ve developed more empathy and understanding for others who can’t quite fit the mold. I have come to understand that my husband is not just being stubborn. For whatever reasons, he can’t believe, and at least he’s being honest about it.

Third, I have firsthand knowledge of how non-Christians often see Christians. My husband reminds me about what Jesus said or did compared to how self-professing Christians behave, and sometimes his reminders cut close to home. He’s more familiar with the teachings of Jesus than many Christians, it seems.

Fourth, I’ve become much more comfortable with mystery and ambiguity. While we may wish that issues were black or white, right or wrong, either/or, they’re not. Life is full of shades of gray, and I think it’s far less stressful to acknowledge that than to cling to the illusion that there are simple answers for everything. It also makes it much easier to see and understand another person’s point of view.

Finally, I’ve come to think differently about where moral values come from. Christians tend to assume they come from God and the Bible, but then why do so many people who deny the existence of God and think of the Bible as just another book have many of the same values?

Dale and I have always shared a commitment to peace and justice, respect for life, honesty, responsibility, compassion, generosity. In fact, in many ways, the fruits of the Spirit are as evident in him as in me. You could argue that’s because he grew up in the church, but he would not agree. I may describe those values as being part of how God wants us to live and act in the world, while he thinks in terms of what makes for a world in which he wants to live. Why does it matter?

I have often thought about Jesus’ answers to two people who asked him what they should do to inherit eternal life. His responses had nothing to do with believing that he was the Son of God or that he had come to save people from their sins. Instead, in one instance he told the rich man to sell everything and give to the poor, and in the other he told the story of the Good Samaritan — both suggesting that ­behavior is more important than belief.

Is it possible that we may all be surprised one day to find out that God doesn’t care as much about what we said we believed as about how we acted and what we did for others?

Harriet Sider Bicksler is editor for the Brethren in Christ Historical Society and of Shalom!, a Brethren in Christ U.S. peace and justice publication. She attends Grantham Brethren in Christ Church in Pennsylvania. She and Dale have two adult children and six grandchildren.