Toni Lynn

Sometimes the things that stop working in our homes are quietly pointing to what’s not working inside us.

This week, our refrigerator stopped working. My first reaction was frustration. I wanted to toss it out, start over, and just buy a new one. But my husband, true to form, approached it differently. He researched what could be wrong, explored ways to troubleshoot, and only after exhausting all possibilities would he even consider replacing it.

I love this about him. It says so much about his personality and how he shows up in our marriage. He’s not afraid to roll up his sleeves, get a little dirty, and do the hard work to fix something instead of walking away when it gets complicated.

As I watched him, I realized this wasn’t really about a refrigerator. It was a mirror, a quiet reflection of how we approach what’s broken. He’s patient and methodical, willing to learn, adjust, and stay curious until he understands what’s wrong. I, on the other hand, tend to assume that if something doesn’t work easily or right away, maybe it’s not meant to.

But maybe that’s not always true.

Maybe what looks broken isn’t beyond repair. Maybe it just needs attention, care, and a little bit of effort to bring it back to life.

That thought lingered as the week went on, especially after I noticed how this same pattern showed up in my communication. There were moments when my words came out sharp, and I reacted instead of pausing to reflect on what was really causing the unease. I didn’t stop to ask myself what I was feeling beneath the frustration or what needed tending inside me before it spilled out onto someone I love.

Later, I had to go back and repair the damage I’d caused. I had to own my part, apologize, and choose connection over pride. In that process, I realized how often I’m tempted to walk away from what feels broken instead of leaning in with curiosity. The refrigerator, the conversation—it all mirrored the same truth: things break, but that doesn’t mean they’re beyond saving.

Marriage and life, really, require that same willingness to stay, to learn, to tinker with what isn’t working until we find our way back to what does. There will always be seasons where things run cold, where something that once worked smoothly starts to sputter. But that doesn’t always mean it’s time to throw it out.

Sometimes, we’re just being invited to notice. To slow down. To repair.

Because the truth is, everything breaks eventually—appliances, plans, routines. And not just those. We experience brokenness in friendships, careers, and dreams too. What matters is how we respond when it happens. Do we discard what’s broken, or do we lean in with curiosity and compassion, believing that restoration is possible?

There’s a sacred balance between holding on and letting go, between rolling up our sleeves and getting a little dirty, and acknowledging that we’ve done all we can and it’s time to release it. Both require courage. Both require love.

Not everything can be fixed, and not everything should be. But the things that truly matter—relationships, trust, connection—are almost always worth the effort.

And maybe that’s what renewal really is: not the absence of what’s broken, but the decision to keep showing up for what’s worth mending.