Part Three in Healing: Another Layer of Understanding Ourselves and the People we Love

Healing is not just tending to our own wounds, but learning to see those we love through softer, wiser eyes. It is recognizing that much of our pain in relationships comes not from malice, but from difference—difference in temperament, in need, in the way our souls were designed.

We so often cause harm without meaning to, simply because we are made differently. What if we could truly see each other’s blueprint—the intricate, sacred design that God intended for each of us? Imagine recognizing that we are all crafted with purpose, woven deliberately into the Master Plan, even when our edges don’t align neatly with someone else’s.

Some relationships seem blessed with effortless joy. They flow like water, full of laughter and ease, as though they were designed for happiness itself. Others feel like carrying bricks on our shoulders uphill. We struggle, push, and strain, hoping time and effort will smooth the path, but sometimes the magnetism seems to work in reverse, pushing us apart no matter how hard we try.

I used to believe that time alone could heal anything—that rough edges could always be sanded down. But I’ve learned that sometimes, even after all the work, the friction remains. Perhaps the difficult truth is that we are meant to be as we are. Not to excuse cruelty or abuse—those must never be tolerated—but to understand that so much of our conflict is rooted in simply being different.

What if we could step back, gain distance, and see ourselves and our loved ones without the magnifying glass of blame? To stop going in circles over the same old habits and accusations? To recognize that what triggers us in another might simply be their own design, not an intentional harm?

If we could accept this, we might ask less often for impossible changes, and instead practice true acceptance. Not resignation, but grace. This work begins in our own homes. If we can soften there—be more tolerant, patient, understanding—then perhaps that energy ripples outward. Perhaps a more peaceful world begins under our own roof, with fewer petty fights and more quiet forgiveness.

I’m not suggesting we settle for loveless or unsafe relationships. But I do believe we can let go of the demand that everyone become just like us. In doing so, we color the world in a more peaceful picture—one where love is not about remaking others in our image, but about honoring the sacred way they were made.

Imagine how many hearts this understanding could heal. How many relationships might soften if we paused to remember what love truly is. Have we forgotten? Love isn’t control, isn’t changing someone to suit our comfort. Love is spacious. It makes room for difference. It listens. It forgives.

Too often we live with a narrow lens—focusing only on what bothers us, what needs to be corrected, where others fall short. We become experts in each other’s flaws. But what if we chose the wide lens instead? To see the whole person, the whole story. To recognize their goodness and their struggle, their beauty and imperfection as a single, holy design.

When we choose the wide lens, we invite understanding instead of accusation. We lay down the demand that others fix themselves for us. We become more gentle. More curious. More willing to let love do its quiet work.

If this shift could begin within us, imagine how far it could ripple. Families at peace. Friendships deepened. Communities more compassionate. A society less divided by judgment and blame. The healing of the world is not found in grand declarations, but in the simple, humble work of learning to see each other as God intended—worthy of love, exactly as we are.