John and I have a slew of differences. I let the fruit bowl and spoon jar flank the stove, because I love to sense their beauty when I cook. He moves them to the butcher block because he thinks the heat will spoil the fruit or ignite the spoons. The vessels travel forth and back, depending on who currently rules the kitchen. 

 

John likes the lights to be dim in our bedroom and on the computer screen. He tugs the curtains and clicks the smaller sun icon. I am thirsty for sunshine in the morning and a sharp image when I write so I pull it back and tattoo the larger sun icon.

 

Our cupboards are another point of dissension. He prefers them to be full to capacity and lugs home eight grocery bags when he shops. Last month there were twelve jars of peanut butter before he stopped grabbing a couple more just in case. I prefer to use up the last can of pintos, or see the back of the freezer, so I can be sure of eating food from the current presidency. 

 

I read about a couple who argued about whether to put glasses pointing up or down on the shelf. Finally they decided to duke out their logic. 

 

"I think they should face up so that the last bit of water won't drip on the shelf paper," he said.

 

"I think they should face down so that no dust gets in them," his wife retorted. 

 

They were both convinced and traded practices. 

 

Marriage is a yoke of two people who inevitably have skewed styles. Sleep schedules, spending habits, and a quota for social life can feel like a cleaver between you. 

 

I used to label these disparities as problems to be solved. Now I think they are a decoy. The Issue is merely the packaging for an invitation to learn how to love.

 

Someday when the we are pressed through the sieve of death, our opinions will be too congealed to slip through the pinprick holes. Only the compassion will be fluid enough to wash into eternity.

 

 

-Heavenly Secrets 1799, Emanuel Swedenborg