I recently wrote about conflict, and the counsel that my dear mentor offered years ago, on how my role (and yours) as a husband is not to be right, but to restore union.

As I mentioned then, this counsel has proven invaluable to me over the years— in my marriage, but also in every one of my most important relationships.

I have to remember it constantly.

Because when conflict arises—when the emotions rush in, I can easily feel that I’m on the receiving end of an assault, and that I have no other course but to fight back.

Interestingly enough, that’s precisely what’s often taking place, although not in the ways that in those moments I (and we) may think.

When we feel attacked—assaulted, there is often someone intentionally behind the assault.

There is someone trying to destroy all that is good and true—our hearts, our loving relationships—everything that truly matters in life.

If I'm being honest, I was furious.

The situation felt profoundly unfair—how could she not grasp what seemed glaringly obvious to me?

Despite my best efforts, all my attempts at reasoning with my wife felt pointless.

Each time I tried to articulate my perspective only seemed to deepen the chasm between us.

And by then, we had helplessly tried (and failed) to reconnect with each other for what felt like an eternity.

Until finally, thank God, we agreed to a temporary ceasefire and chose to go our separate ways.

I walked away with my heart pounding in my chest.

The whole conflict was still swirling like a storm in my head.

Why, God? Why can't she see?

It caught me completely by surprise.

I stepped into my backyard and took a deep breath to connect with God in preparation for the coming day.

My body and my senses were primed for another winter morning, anticipating the cold bite of the air and the sight of my breath in the crisp atmosphere.

I looked around at the familiar landscape—the leafless trees standing against the pale sky and the brown, dormant grass beneath my feet.

Then I turned my head, and there it was…

Amidst this wintry scene, a tiny glimmer of green peeking through the ground.

It was very subtle at first—almost imperceptible, but then, very quickly, I began to feel my heart warm up with a joyful sense of hope and renewal.

I then took another deep breath, and with a wide smile now on my face, I turned my heart to God and heard him say:

“Yes, my son…”

It caught me completely by surprise.

I stepped into my backyard and took a deep breath to connect with God in preparation for the coming day.

My body and my senses were primed for another winter morning, anticipating the cold bite of the air and the sight of my breath in the crisp atmosphere.

I looked around at the familiar landscape—the leafless trees standing against the pale sky and the brown, dormant grass beneath my feet.

Then I turned my head, and there it was…

Amidst this wintry scene, a tiny glimmer of green peeking through the ground.

It was very subtle at first—almost imperceptible, but then, very quickly, I began to feel my heart warm up with a joyful sense of hope and renewal.

I then took another deep breath, and with a wide smile now on my face, I turned my heart to God and heard him say:

“Yes, my son…”

I couldn't breathe anymore.

My hips were pinned to the ground and my skull was pressed between the floor and this man’s enormous chest.

He had a hold of my left wrist, while with my right I was helplessly trying to push him off of me.

I was hopeless. Frustrated. Desperate.

I felt like an eight-year-old boy at the mercy of the playground bully.

Then I felt a weird twisting motion—my shoulder moving in a direction God never intended it to move.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

Tap out. Again…

Fortunately for me, the viking with superhuman strength overpowering me was my good friend Sean.

I remember my heart crying out:

“ Please, God, there’s gotta be another way. Open a door. Show me another path, Lord.”

There was a knot in my chest.

I had been looking for alternatives—a better path, an easier way.

But deep down I knew it.

Although I was desperately looking for eject button, I would have to enter into the difficult season I was trying to avoid.

And in my heart I knew it would not be fun. At all.

Have you been there? Feeling forced to face a circumstance that you want to avoid at all costs?

My eyes were burning.

I squinted and blinked a few times, as I heard an overwhelming buzzing noise inside my head.

Trying to recover full awareness, I shook my head a couple of times.

It felt like my brain had barely survived a fire-fight, and was now limping away from the battle field in search for any available help.

And in a way, that was precisely what was happening.

I then closed my laptop, looked at my watch and realized that for the past 8 hours I had been standing in front of the screen, with barely any breaks.

I recently received a call with troubling news.

My first reaction was frustration—this explicit flavor of anger that not only serves to indicate that one’s boundaries have been trespassed, but also that there seems to be nothing that one can do about it.

“Really? This is not fair, who do they think they are!”

As I learned more about the details, the frustration turned into worry—anxiety.

“Crap, this could turn ugly…”

I could feel my heart pounding.

And at that point, partially out of good intentions, but also from of a long history of self-reliance (rooted in the old message that “life is up to me”), I began to come up with “good ideas”.

“Well, I should definitely do this… Or how about I send an email with that?… Maybe I should consider this other thing…”

Fortunately, I quickly realized that good ideas alone were not going to be sufficient.

Yes, I knew “I was supposed to pray”, but at that moment it didn’t feel helpful, at all.

I recently had a conversation with a man (I’ll call him Steve) who has been experiencing a noticeable distance between him and his son.

Like most of us, Steve has a genuine longing for connecting with his son at the level of the heart, and offer him all that he needs from him as a father.

But Steve is stumbling upon a common obstacle. That he doesn’t seem interested in the things his dad is inviting him into.

Over the past decade of walking alongside men on the path to becoming who God created them to be, some of the most common questions I get at our workshops and events are variations of this one:

How do I develop a more personal, intimate and ongoing relationship with God?

This question reveals our heart’s longing to walk intimately with God every day—which is exactly what we were created for.