Shauna and I had a good kind of argument today.

I remember our first year of marriage. The kitchen was a bad, bad place to be together. Lots of acidic conflict bubbled up through the spaghetti sauces that year. Later in our marriage I remember getting so exasperated that I muttered a threat about jumping out of our moving car to end the argument. She said, “Be my guest.” And year seven went beyond the proverbial itch. It was just plain nasty.

We’ve grown up since then, and our love has deepened and come alive in powerful ways.

Today we drove twenty minutes to a hotel where Shauna’s parents were staying to enjoy an evening of pizza and swimming. I park the van, at which point we realize that the swimming stuff bag got left in the entryway at home. The “well, I guess we just wont’ go swimming then” option kinda didn’t stick for more than seven seconds.


This is where, in previous years, I would have sighed a condescending sigh. Shauna would have said, “I asked you to pack the van.” I would have said, “You walked right by the bag in the entry. Did you not think to pick it up?”


Instead, Shauna says, “I’m so sorry. I thought I packed it myself.” I said, “No, hon – it was my fault. You asked me to load the van. I forgot to bring the bag.” And then she says, “Well, I’ll go back for it.” And I say, “No, it’s my fault, I’ll go.” And she says, “No, it’s my fault, I’ll go.” And I say, “I need to take care of you. You’re really tired.” And she says, “You hate cold pizza.”

While she took the kids in, I slipped back out into the van and drove off before she could protest. We’ve come a long way, praise God.