We were no longer lovers or even roommates. More like warriors. Years of hurt, prior baggage, and unresolved expectations. And then a turning point—I surrendered my wife and my heart to God.
It wasn’t dramatic. No lightning bolt or booming voice. Just a quiet ache that whispered, “You can’t fix this alone.” I had tried everything—counseling, silence, shouting, avoidance. But nothing softened the walls between us. So I knelt, not in defeat, but in surrender. I asked God to take the bitterness, the pride, the fear. I asked Him to show me how to love her again—not as a reward for her behavior, but as a reflection of His grace.
The change wasn’t instant, but it was real. I stopped keeping score. I started listening—not to respond, but to understand. I prayed for her, not about her. I began to see the woman I had married, not the wounds she carried. And slowly, she noticed. My tone shifted. My eyes lingered. My heart opened.
One evening, she asked, “What’s different?” I told her the truth—I had let go. I had stopped trying to be her savior and started trusting the One who could heal us both. She cried. Not from guilt, but from relief. She had felt the pressure too—the weight of trying to be perfect, to meet expectations she didn’t understand.
We began again. Not with grand gestures, but with small mercies. A note on the mirror. A hand held in silence. A prayer whispered together before sleep. We learned to forgive—not just each other, but ourselves. We laughed again. We dreamed again.
Redemption didn’t erase the past, but it rewrote our future. We were still warriors, but now we fought together. For our marriage. For our family. For the love that had been buried but not broken.
And in that sacred surrender, we found something stronger than romance or routine. We found grace. We found God. We found each other.
