There came a point when I quietly wondered if our marriage would survive.
We loved each other — that was never in question. But love felt buried under layers of tension, exhaustion, and repeated misunderstandings. Parenting differences became daily battlegrounds. Conversations that should have built unity ended in frustration.
I wanted biblical structure and consistency.
He leaned toward emotional softness shaped by his past wounds.
The more I pushed, the more he withdrew.
The more he softened, the more I tightened control.
I tried to reason.
I tried to correct.
I tried to persuade.
Nothing worked.
And then the Lord opened my eyes.
Flesh and Blood Are Not the Enemy
Paul writes:
Ephesians 6:12 (KJV) — “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”
That verse changed everything.
My husband was not my enemy.
I was not his enemy.
We were in a spiritual battle.
The enemy was attacking our unity, distorting our perceptions, amplifying our insecurities, and exploiting unhealed wounds.
What I thought was stubbornness was often pain.
What he perceived as control was often fear.
The battlefield was not our living room — it was our hearts and minds.
The Danger of Feeding Discouragement
In The Ministry of Healing, Ellen G. White counsels:
“If you do not feel lighthearted and joyous, do not talk of your feelings… Instead of thinking of your discouragements, think of the power you can claim in Christ’s name.”
(The Ministry of Healing, p. 253)
I had been doing the opposite.
I meditated on discouragement.
I rehearsed frustration.
I strengthened resentment by replaying disappointments.
The more I focused on what was wrong, the larger it grew in my mind.
Scripture instructs us:
2 Corinthians 10:5 (KJV) — “Casting down imaginations… and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ.”
Taking thoughts captive is not denial — it is discipline.
It means pausing before assuming motives.
It means questioning whether your interpretation is truth or fear.
It means refusing to let bitterness narrate your story.
Recognizing Trauma with Compassion
As I prayed for wisdom instead of victory in arguments, something shifted.
I began to see my husband not as an obstacle — but as a man carrying childhood trauma. Not tied to one single issue, but to painful experiences that shaped how he perceived authority, discipline, and expectations.
Trauma often creates overcorrections.
Where there was once harshness, there may be extreme leniency.
Where there was once fear, there may be avoidance.
Where there was once control, there may be resistance.
His parenting approach was not spiritual compromise. It was self-protection shaped by wounds he never fully processed.
When I saw that, compassion replaced accusation.
And compassion softens what criticism hardens.
Healing Begins When We Fight For Each Other
This became one of the most powerful lessons of our marriage:
Healing begins when we stop fighting each other and start fighting for each other.
That shift required humility. I had to admit that my own anxiety was contributing to our tension. My need to control outcomes was driven by fear — fear that our children would go astray, fear that we would fail spiritually, fear that I was alone in carrying responsibility.
But fear-based control does not produce unity.
James 1:20 (KJV) — “For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.”
Righteous outcomes cannot be forced through pressure. They grow through patience, prayer, and grace.
Practical Shifts That Helped Rebuild Us
The transformation was not instant. It was gradual, intentional, and deeply spiritual.
1. We Began Praying — Even When It Felt Awkward
At first, our prayers together were short and hesitant. But something powerful happens when a couple kneels side by side. Walls begin to weaken in the presence of God.
Matthew 18:20 (KJV) — “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.”
Inviting Christ into our conflict changed the atmosphere.
2. We Sought Wise Counsel
God led us to experienced missionaries and mature believers who had walked through spiritual warfare in their own families. Their testimony gave us perspective. Their prayers strengthened us.
Proverbs 11:14 (KJV) — “In the multitude of counsellors there is safety.”
Isolation magnifies problems. Godly counsel brings clarity.
3. We Studied Scripture Together
Instead of debating parenting strategies first, we returned to foundational truths — grace, mercy, patience, and love.
Colossians 3:13–14 (KJV) — “Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another… And above all these things put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness.”
Love binds what arguments scatter.
4. I Surrendered My Need to Control Outcomes
This was the hardest step.
I had to release the belief that everything depended on me. I had to trust that God loved my children even more than I did — and that He was able to guide my husband’s heart better than my persuasion ever could.
Surrender is not passivity.
It is trust in divine sovereignty.
From Rubble to Rebuilding
We were not instantly perfect. We still had conversations to navigate. We still had wounds to understand. But the tone changed.
Defensiveness softened.
Listening increased.
Prayer deepened.
The rubble did not disappear overnight — but we began rebuilding on a stronger foundation.
And I learned something profound:
When the enemy cannot destroy a marriage through hatred, he often tries through misunderstanding.
But when a husband and wife kneel together, acknowledge wounds, and invite Christ into their weakness, heaven begins to restore what seemed beyond repair.
The battle was real.
But we were finally fighting the right enemy.
