After several minutes I still sat staring at the blank piece of paper. Lord, please help me think of something.
This was my first night attending a marriage class. I hoped I'd learn something that would save my marriage. Randy and I started out as two happy people. But the fun-filled man I married was now dread-filled every time we needed to communicate. From the little things, such as which route to take to the grocery store, to bigger issues, such as whose parents we'd spend the holidays with, we'd choose our positions on opposing teams and scrap to the finish, each assured our side laid rightful claim to the playoff trophy.
With each argument a little more of my love for him would die. Insults, hurled like javelins, struck deep into my heart, killing what little feeling lingered. I, too, hurled insults, bringing up past failures at just the right moment for optimum impact.
Exhausted and worn down by the daily battles, one day after Randy went off to work I fell to my knees. "I know when I got married I promised you it was for life," I cried. "But I can't go on this way, God. Please, do something!"
A few moments later, the phone rang; it was my friend Lynn. No one knew of our struggles—or so I thought—but that day I took a chance and shared the whole story.
Her gentle reply surprised me. "I've been waiting for you to get to this point. A Bible study's just beginning at a church up the street. It'll be difficult, but it may be what your marriage needs."1