When Jensen Huang acknowledged that he had been unfaithful to his wife and later resigned as Nvidia’s CEO, much of the public attention turned to the future of the company. I found myself thinking about a question that can linger for a family long after the headlines fade. How do you learn to trust the word of someone whose word once made you feel safe?
We know how to calculate what a leader’s departure costs shareholders. There’s no balance sheet for what a broken promise costs a marriage. And a company can keep posting record profits while a family is living with the consequences of choices the market will never have to reckon with.
That’s the contradiction I can’t get past. I can be celebrated at work for keeping my commitments while my spouse is learning that my word at home can’t be trusted. I can give people at work my patience, attention, and best judgment, then come home expecting the people I love to make do with whatever I have left. And if work keeps rewarding me, how long might I go on calling that a successful life?
The market has its questions. Scripture puts others before us.
- The market asks, How much did the company gain under my leadership? Jesus’ words make me ask, What have I been willing to lose in myself to keep gaining, and would I recognize the loss while everyone is still congratulating me? (Mark 8:36)
- Investors ask, Can we trust this leader to keep his promises to us? Scripture makes me ask, Can my spouse trust me to keep the promises I made at our wedding when we’re apart? (Psalm 15:4)
- The world asks, How many people have I influenced? Jesus’ command to love my neighbor makes me ask, Who gets the most patient, attentive version of me? What would the people who live with me say? (Mark 12:31)
- The market asks, Which relationships will open doors for me? Jesus makes me ask, Who has been waiting for me to stop and see them while I’ve been busy getting somewhere? (Luke 10:30–37)
- The market asks, Can I afford to lose this opportunity? Jesus makes me ask, What opportunity would I willingly let pass to keep a promise to someone I love? (Matthew 5:37)
- I ask, How much wealth will I leave my family? Paul’s words make me ask, When my family gathers after I’m gone, what stories will they tell about how I loved them? What story could I give them this week? (1 Corinthians 13:1–3)
- The market asks, What will my work be worth when I’m gone? Jesus makes me ask, Who will have known something of God’s love because of the way I loved them while I was here? (John 13:34–35)
If a colleague tells me I’ve let them down, I know to take it seriously. When my spouse tells me the same thing, do I listen with that kind of urgency? Or do I explain how much pressure I’m under and expect them to understand? Why would I work so hard to earn the confidence of people who could replace me and take for granted the trust of someone who has chosen to share a life with me?
Character takes shape in choices that may never become public. It grows when I honor a promise long after the moment I made it, when I tell the truth at a cost to myself, and when I give the people closest to me the attention I so readily give to people I hope to impress.
- If my spouse described who I am at home, how closely would it resemble the person others admire at work?
- Whose disappointment have I learned to live with because I’m confident they’ll still be there tomorrow?
- What have I given myself permission to do in private that would change how people trust me if they knew?
- What would the people I love say my ambition has cost them? Have I ever been willing to hear their answer without defending myself?
Jesus asked, “What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?” (Mark 8:36). We tend to imagine forfeiting our souls in one dramatic decision. How often does it begin with a compromise we excuse because life is going so well?
Money can keep a roof over our heads, pay for care when we’re sick, and give us room to breathe when life takes an unexpected turn. Providing those things can be an act of love. Money can secure the house we live in. Character is what makes it safe to trust the person we share it with.
That deeper security comes from knowing the person who chose you on your wedding day still chooses you, over and over. You can go through a hard season together without wondering whether they’re giving their affection to someone else in secret. You can trust that the promises they keep when you’re together are the same ones they keep when you’re apart. That peace comes from years of seeing their choices match their word.
I may know what it takes for my spouse to feel financially secure. Have I ever asked what it takes for my spouse to feel secure with me? What have my choices this week given them reason to believe about my love and my loyalty?
What inheritance am I leaving my family? Will they inherit only what I earned, or will they also inherit a way of living worth passing on?
My children are already receiving part of their inheritance. They see what makes me put my phone down, which commitments I rearrange my day to keep, and whether I apologize when I’ve hurt someone. What I repeatedly prioritize teaches them what deserves their attention. What I repeatedly excuse teaches them what they should tolerate, both in themselves and in the people they love.
If my children watch me make time for anyone whose opinion matters to my work while asking my spouse to wait, what will they learn about whose needs matter in a marriage? If they see me own a failure, make amends, and keep showing up after the apology, they’ll have an example of what it takes to repair trust. If my children someday receive from their spouse the kind of love they’ve watched me give mine, how would I feel about the marriage they’re in?
Imagine reaching the end of your life and being given one ordinary evening back. Who would you want at the table? What would you finally say to the person you kept assuming you’d have more time with?
At the end of my life, I hope the people I love remember that I worked to give them a good life. I hope they remember how much I wanted to share that life with them. And I hope my spouse can look back and say, I knew I was chosen. I could trust that, even when we were apart.
If I reach the end of my life and the people at work tell me how much I accomplished, but the people at home tell me how much they missed me, whose words will I wish I had listened to sooner?