Building Spiritual Intimacy in Marriage LDS Couples Need

By Rachel Whitaker

The blanket had slipped down to my waist sometime in the night, and I woke up to the cold edge of morning on my shoulder and the sound of David breathing beside me. Not snoring, which is its own spiritual mercy, just breathing. Slow. Even. Familiar in the way only years can make a sound familiar. The house was still dark. No one was asking for breakfast. No one had lost a shoe. No one needed me to find a form, sign a paper, solve a feelings emergency, or open the applesauce pouch that was already somehow open wrong. It was only the two of us and that soft steady sound.

I almost didn't write this, but I think many marriages are noisier than they look from the outside. Not always angry-noisy. Often just full. Full of logistics, shows playing in the background, half-finished conversations, calendar math, mutual problem-solving, and the good but tiring work of running a life together. Some seasons of marriage are built on motion alone. And then one day you realize you have gotten very good at doing marriage without making much room to simply be married.

Building spiritual intimacy in marriage lds couples can actually live

I do not mean spiritual intimacy only in the formal sense. Yes, I mean prayer together. I mean scripture and worship and shared covenants. But I also mean the quieter thing underneath all of that, the sense that your souls are not only cooperating but resting in the same direction.

That kind of closeness is not built only through dramatic talks at midnight or perfectly planned date nights. It is often built in smaller and less photogenic ways. In a kitchen where two people clean up after dinner without rushing to fill every silence. In the look that passes across a room when one child is melting down and both parents know, without a meeting about it, who needs to step in first. In a porch swing at dusk when nobody has anything brilliant to say and neither person mistakes that for failure.

The honest version is that I used to think silence in marriage meant something had gone wrong. If we were not talking, processing, deciding, or fixing, then perhaps we were drifting. I do not think that anymore. Silence can be avoidance, yes. But it can also be trust. It can be the proof that two people are safe enough to stop performing for a minute.

"Yea, behold, I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall come upon you and which shall dwell in your heart." (Doctrine and Covenants 8:2)

Mind and heart. That is the part I keep returning to. Marriage needs places quiet enough for both.

The importance of silence in christian marriage

Silence has a bad reputation. Many couples hear it as distance. We are told, directly and indirectly, that a healthy relationship is always communicating, always sharing, always processing, always turning toward one another in visible ways. Some of that is true. Communication matters deeply. But constant sound is not the same thing as closeness.

A marriage can talk all day and still feel thin. Another can sit in shared quiet after a hard week and feel knit back together.

I learned a version of this back in my teaching days. After recess there would be a point when the room settled, and the children were finally quiet enough to hear. Not because silence itself was magic. Because attention had returned. I think marriage has moments like that too. The noise drops. The spirit of the room changes. You can feel two people arrive again.

Sometimes this happens during prayer. Sometimes it happens while folding laundry. Sometimes it happens in the truck after church when the children, by some miracle known only to heaven, fall asleep in the back seat and the road gives you ten unclaimed minutes.

Silence becomes holy when it is shared without fear.

That does not mean every silence is healthy. Some silences are punishment. Some are withdrawal. Some are packed tight with resentment. I am not praising those. I am talking about the gentler kind, the kind that says, "I do not need to fill this second in order to stay close to you."

How to be still with your spouse

This sounds easier than it is. Many of us are so used to filling space that stillness feels awkward at first. You sit down on the couch after the children are finally asleep, and suddenly you want to ask about tomorrow’s schedule, or open your phone, or start a show, or discuss whether the second-grader’s cough sounds church-worthy for Sunday.

I understand. I am married and middle-aged and deeply familiar with the seductive pull of practical conversation.

But if you want to practice stillness together, it helps to begin very small. Not grand. Not expensive. Not one more ideal to fail at.

Here are a few ways this has looked in our house:

  • drinking coffee together before the children wake up, even if it is only seven minutes
  • sitting on the edge of the bed at night before turning out the light, without opening the next household topic
  • taking a short walk without bringing every pending decision along with us
  • folding towels side by side and letting touch or presence carry more of the moment than words do

I think of this as a Sabbath of the marriage. A pocket of time where productivity is not the point. Nobody is trying to improve the budget or solve adolescence or decide whether the garage freezer is making an ominous sound. You are simply together, before God, inside the life you already share.

This kind of quiet has a close cousin in How to Find Spiritual Peace in a Chaotic Home. A home and a marriage both need space where the soul can stop bracing.

Creating quiet moments in a busy marriage

Busy marriages do not usually need bigger gestures first. They need smaller openings. A marriage with young children, jobs, callings, bills, sleep debt, and one mystery stain on the stairs does not magically produce three-hour conversations by candlelight. At least ours never has.

What it can produce is this:

  1. a hand on the lower back while one of you passes the sink
  2. a shared look across the dinner table that says, "I see how hard you are trying"
  3. ten minutes on the porch after bedtime without screens
  4. a prayer where you stay kneeling an extra beat after the amen

These things matter more than they look like they should. Marriage is shaped by tiny repeated offerings. The feel of being noticed. The absence of interruption. The kindness of not demanding a full conversation from a tired person just because you finally have the chance.

This is where touch can become its own quiet language. A foot against a foot under the blanket. A hand finding a shoulder. The way David brushes past me at the counter and leaves a small touch behind, not to ask for anything, only to say I am here.

Those moments are not filler. They are structure. They hold up more than we realize.

I think this belongs near The Quiet Joy of Ordinary Motherhood because ordinary joy does not only live in parenting. It lives in marriage too, often in the plainest places.

Spiritual connection without words in marriage

There are seasons when words come easily and seasons when they do not. A couple can love each other deeply and still hit a stretch of sheer tiredness where every meaningful conversation gets postponed until tomorrow, and then tomorrow arrives wearing shin guards and asking for snacks.

That does not mean the bond is gone. It may mean it needs gentler care.

Some of the most healing moments in marriage are not verbal at all. Washing dishes together after a hard day. Sitting in sacrament meeting with knees almost touching. Standing in the kitchen after bad news and not rushing to explain the pain away. Grief, worry, repentance, gratitude, and hope all have bodies as well as words. Marriage knows this if we let it.

There is a kind of spiritual connection that happens when two people turn toward God side by side, even if neither says much. It might be a shared prayer. It might be reading one verse and leaving it alone. It might be sitting in the same room while one person writes in a journal and the other stares quietly out the window, both of you held by the same peace.

I have also found that a marriage gets quieter in the best way when the invisible labor is seen. Valuing the Hidden Work of Faith at Home touches that from the family side, but it belongs here too. Nothing raises the volume of a marriage like feeling unseen. Nothing softens it quite like being noticed without needing to plead your case.

Frequently Asked Questions

Why does silence feel uncomfortable in my marriage?

Often because we have been taught to treat constant activity or constant communication as proof of closeness. Quiet can feel exposed at first. With practice, it can start to feel like trust instead.

How can we create quiet moments if we have young children and almost no privacy?

Shrink the goal. Five minutes before the house wakes up counts. A shared look in the middle of dinner counts. Quiet architecture is built from intention more than long uninterrupted hours.

Is it okay if my spouse and I do not have deep conversations every day?

Yes. Not every day can carry that much weight. Communication matters, but some seasons are held together by steadiness, kindness, touch, prayer, and little pockets of presence.

How do we build spiritual intimacy in marriage if one of us is tired all the time?

Start with gentleness, not pressure. Choose one small practice that feels life-giving instead of demanding, such as a short prayer, a quiet walk, or sitting together after the children are asleep. Weariness usually responds better to mercy than to one more assignment.

What if silence between us feels tense instead of peaceful?

Then do not pretend it is peaceful. Some silences need a conversation before they can become restful. Name the tension kindly, then keep making room for the quieter kind of presence after the harder truth has been told.

I do not know if this will make sense yet, but I think marriage needs empty spaces the way a house needs windows. Not to make it hollow, but to let in light and air. A good marriage cannot be built on noise alone. It needs somewhere for the still small voice to land, and somewhere for two tired people to remember that being together is already its own kind of blessing.

with love, Rachel