We have been married too long to make the mistake we made last fall. On a beautiful Saturday morning, my husband and I drove our daughters the few hours to his alma mater, where his football team was playing mine. It’s been years since the “Flynn Bowl” meant anything; over the course of our 13-year marriage, our teams have rarely been good in the same season. But this year was different. There was a lot on the line, and I was fairly confident my team would win.
We didn’t. His team completely dismantled mine. It was a joyless four hours (for me). But I managed my disappointment well—for the sake of the children—and I thought I’d get through the weekend gracefully. I was fine until the drive home the next morning.
I was typing on my laptop in the passenger seat, so my husband turned on the post-game analysis from the day before. As pundits blasted my team’s poor performance, I fumed silently in the passenger seat. This is insensitive, I thought. He knows I don’t like to lose. That’s my team they’re talking about. Does he not know I’m listening? Did he not know this would bother me?
Does he even know me at all?
Admittedly, this was a large leap that seems especially silly with the benefit of hindsight. But how easy it is to do that in the context of our relationships! How tempting it is to prioritize being “known,” to lead with our expectations and deep desire to be understood.
Our marriage is relatively young—almost 13 years—so the advice we got during premarital counseling still comes back to me quickly in moments like that one in the car. Back then, we were reminded that the ultimate goal of our marriage wouldn’t be to know or understand each other, or to meet each other’s expectations. That would be impossible much of the time anyway. Instead, our aim should be encouraging one another toward a deeper knowledge and love of God.
I fumed another few minutes in the car before confessing my bitter thoughts. Like most minor disagreements, we fixed it quickly. Other differences and hurts take longer to heal, we’re learning. Remembering the goal, though, is helpful: learning to love God more every day—together—and becoming more like Jesus as we learn to sacrificially love each other.
Meredith Day Flynn is a wife and mother of two living in Springfield. She writes on the intersection of faith, family, and current culture.