If there’s one thing I’ve learned (and am still learning), it’s this: I don’t always have the answer—and that’s okay.

When Debbie is going through one of life’s speed bumps, I struggle. I hurt because she’s hurting. For years, I believed it was my job to fix it, to say or do something I thought would be helpful and make it better. But sometimes, trying to help actually made it worse.

I’ve come to realize: Only God can be the calm in the middle of the storm. We’ve got to stop trying to play God in our spouse’s life. That role is already filled.

I read a statement a few years ago that didn’t truly hit home until recently:
“It’s okay not to have all the answers to your spouse’s struggles.”
I’ll be honest—I didn’t like that truth. It feels like I’m giving up when I can’t help, but the more I pray over this, the more I see the truth in it.
I’m not God—and that’s not just okay… it’s necessary as we are called to fully rely on Him above all others.

So often, when we try to help, we draw from our own past struggles. We tell stories, offer advice, and try to give perspective. And while our intentions may be good, sometimes what our spouse hears is:
“I got through it. You should be able to as well.”

That’s not helpful; in fact, it can feel dismissive and create even more issues.

What our spouse really needs in that moment isn’t a solution.
They need presence.
They need compassion.
They need prayer.

Sometimes, that means praying with them out loud in the moment. Other times, it means silently lifting them up while sitting quietly beside them, holding space, being a rock, being there.

We have to remember to validate their feelings, no matter what we think they should feel. It’s not about fixing. It’s about being supportive, present, and listening.

And let’s be honest: shutting our mouths and just listening in love can be one of the hardest things to do—especially when everything inside us is screaming, “Say something! Fix it!” But love often looks like quiet strength.

You don’t always have the answer—and that doesn’t make you weak. It makes you humble. It makes you teachable. It makes you human.

And when we lean into that, we create space for God to do what only He can.