I’ve been teaching my children to share since they were old enough to hold a Cheerio. But apparently I still have a lot to learn myself.
“Where did you put them?” I shouted down the hall to my husband while I rifled through a kitchen drawer where my earbuds were supposed to be.
“Probably downstairs, honey,” he called from the office.
“Please find them.” By now I’d walked the hallway and stood in the office doorway. “Tonight, before you go to bed. Please? I need them in the morning.”
“Yes, wifey.” He flashed a mock pout. “I’m sorry I borrowed them and didn’t put them back. We share everything, right?”
No. No, we do not. He took my earbuds, people. My earbuds. That’s personal. I know I vowed to become one flesh when we stood at the altar thirteen years ago, but seriously? Sharing earwax was not supposed to be part of the deal. I don’t want to share everything. Isn’t it enough that we wrestle for the same bed covers, pinch the same budget, drink from the same travel mugs and pee in the same toilet? For crying out loud, man, let me have my EARBUDS!!!
Why do you think God created marriage to involve a man and a woman tossed together in one house, one life, one bed? I mean, we could’ve just procreated and then left each other alone. But no, God says coexist. Share everything. Raise a family together. Merge your hopes and dreams. Stick with this person through sickness and health, morning breath and smelly socks—let him borrow your earbuds ‘til death do you part.
Because marriage isn’t just about us. It has a higher purpose beyond our personal fulfillment, beyond raising the next generation of Christians, and beyond building a legacy or a happily ever after.
Marriage is God’s training ground for learning to love an imperfect person the way Christ loves you and me—lavishly, selflessly, unconditionally, and in spite of our many failings. The question is, am I passing the test?
“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you” (Ephesians 4:32).
The morning after my little sharing fit, while sitting at a coffee shop, I found a classical station on Pandora and plugged my earbuds into my laptop. After a few minutes of popping the buds in and out of my ears and jiggling the wires, I shot an e-mail to my husband. Following is the actual transcript of our conversation.
“My right ear is not working. You’re in trouble.”
“What. Why can’t you hear out of your right ear? Did you sleep on it wrong?
“You owe me, bucko.”
“They worked for me a while back.”
“Oh sure I’ll bet they did. Poop. xoxo”
“Hey Beavis , she said poop. Heh heh.”
What was I saying about teaching children to share? No worries. Tomorrow I’ll borrow his razor to shave my armpits. Because what’s yours is mine, right, honey?