Shrinking the Woodpile

Every marriage has had an argument that turned into a five-alarm fire. Sometimes more than one. And often the thing you started fighting about isn’t really the thing you’re fighting about. It’s just the match that found the kindling. Beneath it are layers of dry logs: old grievances, quiet resentments, half-swallowed apologies, and sins politely swept aside. They’ve been piling up for years, maybe decades. The thing on top looks small, but when the pile gets big enough, and the wind hits just right, the whole marriage can go up like a barn fire.

The presenting issue isn’t the issue. The real issue is that the couple hasn’t practiced real repentance and real forgiveness. Those are the only tools that keep you from stacking dry wood in your marriage. And like most of the things that actually work, they’re simple, but they aren’t easy. They require humility, and humility always costs more than you think it should.

Real repentance is when the sinner calls the sin a sin, no excuses, no creative labeling. Real forgiveness is when the one who was sinned against doesn’t brush it off or pretend it doesn’t hurt, but looks the other person in the eye and says, “I forgive you,” and then lives like it.

Let me give you an imperfect example.

A husband comes home from a bad day at work. Nothing went right and long drive gave him time to stew in it. He walks through the door tight-jawed and tired. The air around him changes. He starts snapping at his wife about small things, the messy kitchen, the dinner plans, her inviting her parents over that night. She’s hurt. She was excited to see him. Greeted him with warmth. And now what? She’s left standing stunned and offended.

Later, after he’s changed clothes and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror for a minute too long, the guilt creeps in. He comes out and mutters, “Hey, sorry about earlier. Had a bad day at work. Traffic was awful.” She nods, says, “I understand. It’s no big deal.”

But that little moment, what looks like peace, isn’t peace at all. There’s been no repentance and no forgiveness. Both are dodging the truth. He’s made an excuse, and she’s pretending it didn’t matter. He said he was sorry, sure, but he blamed his anger on the commute. And she said it was fine when it wasn’t fine. It hurt. It was unfair. She’s trying to tidy it up and move on. But swept dirt is still dirt—it’s just under the rug now.

Something small like that won’t sink a marriage. But it’s another stick on the pile. Add enough, and one day something sparks, and everything burns.

Here’s how it should have gone.

He comes out and says, “I had a bad day, and I got angry. When I got home, I took that anger out on you. That was wrong. Please forgive me.”
And she says, “I forgive you. I love you.”

Simple and to the point.

That’s repentance and forgiveness. They’re not sentimental gestures—they’re acts of death. The sinner kills his pride. The forgiver kills her resentment. Both go to the cross, remembering that Christ died for these very sins. He didn’t wave them off as “no big deal.” They were a big deal. Big enough for nails.

When a husband and wife make that their pattern, it won’t make their marriage fireproof. But it’ll keep the fires small and easier to put out. The surface issue will stay the issue, because you haven’t buried it under layers and layers of unresolved sin.

Painting: Andy Lovell, Woodpile