This morning I was working through my Bible study in the Gospel of John and came across something that really made me stop and think. In John 2:23–25, Jesus was in Jerusalem for the Passover Festival. Many people saw the signs and miracles He was performing and believed in Him. But then verse 24 says, “But Jesus would not entrust himself to them, for he knew all people.” Wait a minute…these people believed in Jesus. They had witnessed His miracles and recognized that there was something extraordinary about Him. But Jesus didn’t entrust Himself to them. Why not?

John tells us that Jesus knew what was in their hearts. He didn’t need anyone to tell Him what people were thinking or what their motives were. He already knew. As I started looking through some biblical commentaries, I learned something interesting. The Greek word translated as believed in verse 23 is the same word translated as entrust in verse 24. So the people believed in Jesus, but Jesus didn’t entrust Himself to them. That made me stop and think about my own life and what I’ve been walking through in my marriage.

It’s been a little over three years since the betrayal came to light, and we’ve been working toward healing and rebuilding our marriage for about a year now. There have been counseling sessions, recovery meetings, apologies, and conversations that really seemed like breakthroughs. There have been times when I thought we were finally getting somewhere. I am not dismissing those things because they do matter. But I’ve also experienced the disappointment of watching familiar destructive behaviors return, especially when things get difficult or uncomfortable. It’s hard to get your hopes up, begin to believe things are changing, and then find yourself dealing with the same things all over again. Honestly, I’m tired of the disappointment and the pain that comes with it.

I’ve been struggling with how to recognize the progress without extending trust that hasn’t really been rebuilt yet. Then I came across a thought that seemed to put into words exactly what I’ve been experiencing. I can acknowledge the signs of change without entrusting myself to a pattern that has not yet changed. Jesus knows what was is in people’s hearts. I don’t. I can’t look at another person and know their motives or whether their repentance is sincere. But I can pay attention to what they’re doing. I can see when their words and actions match and when they don’t. I can recognize progress without pretending that everything has changed.

Something else I thought about is the whole idea of a healing apology. Words matter to me. A LOT! I think the words we choose are important because they shape how we understand what we’re doing. In the recovery process, a healing apology is supposed to acknowledge a rupture in the relationship and help repair it. And I understand that. But I’ve started wondering if calling it a healing apology might create some confusion about what actually brings healing. If someone is taught how to construct and deliver a healing apology, is it possible that they begin to believe the apology itself heals the relationship? That once they’ve said the right things, acknowledged the hurt, and apologized, the rupture has been repaired and we can move on?

Because that’s not how it works for me. I can appreciate an apology and recognize that someone is taking responsibility for what they’ve done. But the apology itself doesn’t take away the hurt or rebuild the trust. An apology acknowledges the past. Repentance changes the present. Consistentancy rebuilds trust for the future. I’ve started thinking that repentance apology might be a better description. Not because changing the name changes anything, but because repentance means something more than just saying you’re sorry.

Matthew 3:8 tells us to produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And in 2 Corinthians 7:10–11, Paul talks about godly sorrow and how it leads to repentance. Repentance isn’t just recognizing that you’ve done something wrong and apologizing for it. It’s turning away from that behavior and making different choices. I know that doesn’t mean perfection. I’m certainly not perfect, and I don’t expect my husband to be either. One of my post it notes says “I don’t expect perfection, I expect learning. And learning should eventually produce fruit”. I know we’re both going to make mistakes. But there’s a difference between making a mistake, recognizing it, taking responsibility, and working to change, and continuing to repeat the same behaviors. I don’t want us to just get better and better at apologizing for the same things over and over again. I want the things that keep causing the hurt to actually change.

And as I’ve been thinking about all of this, I’ve had to look at my own part in what’s been happening. In the past, when something caused a rupture between us, I would bring it up, explain what happened and why it hurt, and then try to get the conversation started so we could work through it. But lately I’ve mostly stopped doing that. Instead, I’ve been walking away and allowing the discomfort of the disconnection to remain rather than immediately trying to make it go away. And you know what? It really sucks!

Sometimes my husband will come to me and ask if we can talk. I appreciate that he’s taking the initiative to start a conversation, but what happens next is often where we fall back into the same old patterns. Sometimes he apologizes, and there seems to be an expectation that the apology has repaired the rupture and we should be able to move on. Other times, we fall right back into defending, explaining, or rewriting what happened. Instead of repairing the original hurt, we end up adding another one. And I find myself right back where I started. Hurt, disappointed, and disconnected. It’s not necessarily that he’s unwilling to have a conversation. It’s that having the conversation doesn’t always lead to anything different.

In the meantime, life goes on. We still talk about the house we’re building, schedules, projects, and all the everyday things that come with sharing a life together. But the emotional connection is missing. We start living more like business partners than husband and wife. I hate that. I want companionship. I want to be able to talk to my husband about what’s going on in my life and hear what’s going on in his. I want to feel close to him again.

I think that’s where I’ve been struggling the most. When I don’t step in and try to end the disconnection, I’m left sitting with the pain of being emotionally separated from my husband. And underneath that pain is something else. Fear. Or maybe hopelessness. Maybe a little of both. What if he doesn’t learn how to recognize the hurt he’s caused and take responsibility for repairing it? What if we keep having conversations and apologies, but the behaviors never really change? What if this is just how things are going to be?

I think I’m beginning to recognize that sometimes I step in and try to move things toward resolution because I just want the pain of disconnection to stop or I feel the pressure for the disconnection to stop. I want us to feel normal again. I want to feel like I have my husband back. But what if, by doing that, I’m actually helping the same pattern continue? What if my willingness to keep taking responsibility for getting us reconnected has allowed him to avoid learning how to recognize the problem and take responsibility for repairing it himself? That’s a hard thing to admit.

Romans 12:18 says, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” I’ve been thinking a lot about those words, as far as it depends on you. I know I have responsibilities in my marriage. I’m called to love, forgive, pursue peace, and speak the truth in love. There may be times when I need to initiate a difficult conversation, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But I can’t repent for someone else. I can’t make him recognize when his behavior has caused hurt or take responsibility for changing it. I can be part of the repair, but I can’t be responsible for all of it.

This connects to something else God has been teaching me lately. That peace and pain can exist at the same time. I’ve always thought of peace as calm, being relaxed, and not having conflict or emotional pain. I picture myself floating down a lazy river. The sun is shining, there’s a slight breeze, and the temperature is in the perfect mid-80s. But I’m beginning to understand that the peace Jesus offers doesn’t necessarily mean the difficult things in life go away. Sometimes I can be at peace with a decision I’ve made and still feel the pain that comes with it. And right now, that may mean allowing myself to feel the pain of disconnection without immediately trying to make it stop. Not because I want to be disconnected from my husband or because I’ve given up on our marriage, but because temporary relief from the disconnection isn’t the same as genuine healing.

Proverbs 4:23 tells us to guard our hearts. I’ve been thinking about what that means because I don’t want to become hardhearted. I want to see my husband grow. I want to recognize the work he’s doing and be encouraged when I see progress. But I also need to be wise about extending trust. There’s a difference between guarding my heart and hardening my heart, and I think that’s something I need to keep bringing before God.

Earlier this week, I was studying John 1, where Jesus asked two of His disciples, “What do you want?” My answer was that I want a healed marriage and a healed, godly husband. I still want that. Very much. But I’m beginning to understand that just because I want something doesn’t mean I’m responsible for making it happen. I can pray for my husband and our marriage. I can do the work God has given me to do. I can recognize progress and be thankful for it. But I can’t do his work for him.

I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know if my husband will learn to recognize and take responsibility for the ruptures in our relationship without me having to explain them to him. And I don’t know how long we’ll be in this place of disconnection. I don’t like that. Not one bit. But I do know that God is trustworthy, and I need to keep looking to Him for wisdom instead of trying to figure out how to fix everything myself.

I can acknowledge the signs of change without entrusting myself to a pattern that has not yet changed. That doesn’t mean I’ve given up on healing. It means I’m learning the difference between hoping for transformation and pretending it’s already happened. And I still want that lazy river. I want the sunshine, the gentle breeze, and the feeling of having nothing to worry about. I want the kind of peace where there isn’t any pain. But maybe that’s what I’m really longing for. Heaven. A place where there won’t be any more sorrow, disappointment, or hurt. Jesus never promised me a life without trouble here on earth. He promised me peace in Him, even in the middle of it. And maybe that’s what guarding my heart looks like right now. Not closing it off to my husband or to what God may do in our marriage, but learning to trust God while I wait for the fruit of repentance instead of trying to make the signs of change into something they’re not.