Preface
We live
in a world at war. I am referring not only to wars between countries
but also between former friends, siblings, spouses, parents,
and children. Conflicts between countries are perhaps more dramatic,
but the hot and cold wars that fester in the hearts of family
members, neighbors, and friends bring more pain and suffering
to this earth in a single day than have all the world’s weapons
since the beginning of time. If there ever is to be peace on
earth, we first must find the way to peace in our hearts and
homes.
“I am the
way,”1 the Lord declared.
“After your tribulation, I will feel after you,” he promised.
“And if you harden not your hearts, and stiffen not your necks
against me, I will heal you.”2
Nothing is more important than understanding not just that the
Lord’s atonement is the answer to our daily, painful predicaments,
but how it is the answer. This book is an account of how the
Lord “feels after us to heal us,” and what we must do to receive
the peace of his healing. It is the story of a husband and wife
whose marriage is in trouble. It could just as well be the story
of a father and child who aren’t speaking, or of neighbors who
bristle at each encroachment over a property line. The Lord’s
atonement reaches deep into the trouble of daily life to the
very bottom of every dispute and hurt feeling. To the predicament
of a hard heart, he offers the promise of a new one. To the
pain of hurt feelings, he offers the balm of his love. To utter
loneliness, he offers the companionship of the heavens.
His birth
was heralded by the words “Peace, good will toward men”3
because his atonement is what makes peace and good will possible.
Whether in a home or a bunker, the way to true, deep, lasting
peace is only in and through the Prince of Peace. “He is our
peace,” Paul declared, for through his atonement he has “broken
down the middle wall of partition between us; having abolished
in his flesh the enmity.”4
There are
far too many partitions in our hearts and homes and too much
enmity between us. But the carpenter of Nazareth has constructed
for us peace. My desire is to explore with you how.
A Storm
in the Soul
Chapter
1
The night
was cold, in more ways than one. Outside, a heavy wind pounded
thick raindrops against the windows. The eves above Rick Carson’s
bed creaked, as they always did in such windstorms, and he could
hear the lawn furniture scraping slowly along the patio, as
if each chair were reaching out in a futile attempt to grab
a handful of concrete. At times it felt as though the house’s
wooden frame was bending, a movement Rick supposed he could
have measured if he had either the inkling or the instruments
to do so. He felt himself leaning heavier into his bed, perhaps
in his own futile attempt to keep the house anchored to its
moorings or in an equally futile attempt to moor himself to
something solid.
Behind him
lay his wife of twelve years. They were hugging their respective
edges of the queen bed, she facing the window and Rick the wall,
careful not to touch each other. It had been three days since
they had spoken a word to one another except out of necessity—nearly
as long as the rain had been pounding at their home. Rick lay
awake, wondering what he had done to deserve this. Our marriage
is a sham, he thought, despite what he considered to have been
his best efforts. There is no tenderness, no understanding.
He ached with despair.
Things had
been so bad with Carol for so long that Rick could barely remember
the good times. There had been some. In fact, during the early
years of their marriage Rick had thought he was quite happy,
and he had believed Carol to be as well. But the increasing
unhappiness of the intervening years had called these early
beliefs into question. Rick was no longer sure how happy he
or Carol had ever been. His memories of the past and hopes for
the future sagged under the weight of a depressing present.
Despite
the cloud of unhappiness he felt enveloping his marriage, Rick
had until then done his best to minimize and deny the problems.
He survived by employing a kind of inner diversionary trick—by
pushing from his mind thoughts of Carol, his marriage, and the
injustices and pains that inhabited his inner chambers and by
concentrating on other things. Everything will be okay if I
can only hang on, he thought, as he did his best to put a happy
face on their relationship. Carol will come around. But Carol
hadn’t “come around,” and their relationship was only deteriorating
the more.
As he lay
there, Rick could sense something amiss in the patience he had
been purporting to exercise. For the longer he exercised it
the more bitter and impatient he had become. He felt not unlike
the drug addicts and alcoholics who assuage themselves with
the naive lie that “this hit or drink will be the last.” His
marriage was in trouble, and what frightened him most was that
he wasn’t sure he cared anymore.
Over the
last five or so years he had shed many tears over the predicament
he found himself in. One night, Carol had suggested that perhaps
it would be better if he moved out for awhile. “The time apart
might help us appreciate each other more,” she had said. But
her voice lacked conviction and rang hollow of hope. It was
a voice Rick knew, for he heard it within himself as well.
Rick remembered
that terrible night as he now lay listening to the storm. When
Carol suggested he leave, it was like hell itself opened wide
its jaws to give Rick an immediate and threatening view of what
he had wanted to keep himself from seeing. He began to shake
uncontrollably, and tears that felt like they originated in
the marrow of his bones gushed from his eyes. The tears, shudders,
and cries came in torrents. Just as one spasm of heartbreak
would seem to pass and his body would start to settle, a new
wave would burst from deep within him and his wailing would
begin anew. He felt his hope for happiness, which he had clung
to until that moment, slipping away with each teardrop. All
the while, Rick recalled, Carol lay next to him, emotionless.
She hadn’t reached over to comfort him.
As he lay
in memory, Rick could still feel the echo of those shudders
within him. Things had calmed a bit between himself and Carol
over the past eighteen months, but the bleak essentials of their
relationship remained the same. He hadn’t left as Carol had
asked because, probably out of pity, she had withdrawn the suggestion.
But her words still hung in the air between them—“Perhaps we
need to get away from each other . . . maybe that will help
. . . ”
Rick knew
better. With the indifference he was feeling within himself,
he feared that he might like the time away—time away from demands,
expectations, criticisms, and the weight of Carol’s unhappiness
that pressed upon and accused him whenever they were together.
Even worse, Rick was afraid Carol might like the time away as
well—a risk with implications he couldn’t bear to think about.
The streetlight
in front of their house cast enough glow through the storm and
against the wall Rick was facing to illuminate the painting
of the two of them that hung there. The artist had captured
Carol perfectly, he thought, from the straight line in which
she set her mouth, to the determination in her jaw and the icy
glare of her eye. Even the painter couldn’t deny it, he thought
to himself, feeling all the more discouraged. Why didn’t I see
it before we married?
