Marriage: Handle With CareSýnishorn

Randy and I sat across from each other—our sick four-month-old in my lap, our sick toddler having a meltdown in the living room, a delicious meal before us I had not prepared. 

My husband—his hair still shorn from his emergency brain surgery only weeks before—looked so unlike the protector I had known and loved that I had to fight back tears. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I am sorry life’s so hard.”

He swallowed. “I’m sorry, too.”

By sheer willpower alone, we got our girls to bed. Randy put a pallet of blankets on our toddler’s floor, so he could be there in case she had another bad spell of the croup during the night. 

“Let me sleep there,” I insisted. “You’re still recovering.”

“I won’t be able to sleep at all if I can’t hear her.”

I nodded and tiptoed back downstairs. I pressed my fingertips to the table where we’d sat and stared through the window into the snowy darkness as if I could see directly into the face of God. 

I could feel the tension coiled in my spinal column, though my shoulders were weighted with fatigue. “You must meet us here,” I said. “You must meet us here.” 

I prayed this over and over, my voice both plea and command. I interceded for our family for a few more minutes and then stretched out across the bed in the playroom, too tired to cry. 

It was no small miracle our girls didn’t have coughing spells during the night, allowing our family to get a decent night’s rest for the first time since Randy’s emergency brain surgery. 

Over breakfast, I told him the previous night was the lowest point I’d ever reached. 

He said it was the same for him. We’d walked through trials before, but we’d never walked through anything like this.

Then I recalled that unusual passage in Ezekiel 37, where God breathes life into an army of old bones, making them walk again:

“‘I will put breath into you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord.’”

The two weeks after surgery had stripped us down to the very bones of who we were, yet I prayed that once this stripping had taken place, our skin—and our very breath—would be a closer representation of the heart of God.

Conversation Starter: Have you ever walked through a valley? How did that experience change you as a couple?

Getting Started: Write down a list of the hard things you and your spouse have walked through together. Write down a list of the good things. Which ones drew you closer?