Conf­licts so­me­ti­mes oc­cur in fa­mi­ly life. They do oc­cur even when we love each ot­her. Even when I would like to be good and lo­ving to­ward the ot­her per­son.

Our own sel­fish­ness, ti­red­ness or wor­ries so­me­ti­mes seem to over­lie all good things. At such mo­ments we find al­most all things ir­ri­ta­ting, so­me­ti­mes even the fact that the ot­her per­son hap­pens to feel ti­red at the same time.

I have found three good ways to al­le­vi­a­te ten­si­on in strai­ned ma­ri­tal re­la­ti­ons. I have nee­ded them all in my dai­ly life. And they work best if used to­get­her. The first of them is ten­der­ness. When the ot­her per­son touc­hes you gent­ly in pas­sing or says so­met­hing nice. Or when you can snug­g­le in the warmth of his arms and see love shine in his ey­es.

The se­cond is hel­ping. When you see that the ot­her per­son is fa­cing a chal­len­ging si­tu­a­ti­on, you can of­fer to help. You can tell him to take a break and lie down while you take care of the dis­hes. You can col­lect and or­ga­ni­ze the things that are lying around, or go and bring in the fi­re­wood. You can ask if he has wor­ries, lis­ten to his thoughts and sup­port him.

The third and the gre­a­test thing is for­gi­ve­ness. To bless the per­son’s sins for­gi­ven even be­fo­re he asks for it. Or to ask for for­gi­ve­ness if you are the one who has transg­res­sed. When my spou­se draws me in­to his arms and pre­ac­hes the gos­pel over all my sins, my mind feels free. My he­art is re­a­dy to love again. Small nui­san­ces are not so an­no­ying any more, and even the big­ger ones seem to scale down.

I be­lie­ve that for­gi­ve­ness nur­tu­res love. The gos­pel joins our he­arts to­get­her even more clo­se­ly. The ot­her per­son seems even more im­por­tant. It is ea­sy to be gra­te­ful.

And when the gos­pel is used to take care of mu­tu­al re­la­ti­ons, it arou­ses a de­si­re to help. Love be­gins to grow and flou­rish right in the mid­d­le of or­di­na­ry eve­ry­day life.

I have of­ten thought that the He­a­ven­ly Fat­her was in­con­cei­vab­ly wise when He gave us to each ot­her. To­get­her we are more than eit­her of us could be alo­ne. When one of us is weak, the ot­her is stron­ger. When one is cran­ky, the ot­her co­mes close and for­gi­ves eve­ryt­hing.

There was a time when so­met­hing bot­he­red me well in­to the night. In the dark­ness I sud­den­ly re­mem­be­red Ja­cob wrest­ling with the an­gel. “I will not let you go un­less you bless me.” That made me re­a­li­ze that all my pon­de­ring was in vain. The words of con­so­la­ti­on were so near.

And the lo­ving wis­dom of the He­a­ven­ly Fat­her re­ac­hes still furt­her. Even our child­ren en­cou­ra­ge us to be­lie­ve. We re­a­li­zed that at bed­ti­me one eve­ning, when our four-ye­ar-old wan­ted to make sure eve­ryt­hing was well. “Have you bles­sed?”, he as­ked.

Ma­y­be we should all ask our­sel­ves this qu­es­ti­on when dai­ly life seems dif­fi­cult and full of prob­lems. The gift of the gos­pel will car­ry us on the way.

Text: An­ne Lind­fors

Trans­la­ti­on: Sirk­ka-Lii­sa Lei­no­nen

You will find the ori­gi­nal blog post here.