One time I took a bunch of preschoolers out to play soccer. They were new at this and even kicking a ball in the right direction while running without falling down was a feat for their feet.

 

A four year old was beginning to get some speed and was headed for the goal when another little boy whacked the ball away from him. The first boy was furious. He had just begun to get the hang of this game and some jerk shows up to make it harder. He marched over to the ball, picked it up and walked off the field with it. If people were going to stoop to such underhanded methods, he was going to put a stop to it. 

 

Covering a smile, I tried to explain that this is actually how soccer works. One bunch of kids is trying to kick it one way and another bunch are trying to smack it in the opposite direction. He wrinkled his eyebrows.

 

I know that I have been prone to indignation at times in my marriage. Here I am, finally figuring out how to have a conversation with John, when something swings in from left field to make it harder. Maybe it is the broken washing machine. I can cooperate with my husband when everything is working like a charm, but who can expect me to be nice when the dirty clothes are stacked up with who knows what growing in the middle of that warm, dark, smelly mountain? 

 

Sure I can make dinner when the counter and sink are clear, but what unreasonable troublemaker thinks I can manage it when there are no clean pans to even start cooking with? 

 

I am not rock certain I would find my own marriage interesting if there was no struggle. Would it keep my attention if all John and I had to talk about was how easily the sweet tempered children had trotted off to bed with their teddy bears and a glass of water?

 

"Don't the boys look adorable in their train pajamas? I love how they hold hands while they walk up the stairs so quietly, brushing their teeth for a full three minutes of course, and leaving no trace of spit in the sink. They even remember to separate their dark and light clothes in the laundry room hampers. Parenting is such a breeze. More brie and crackers, dear?"

 

I have watched movies of royalty who arrive at the table, prepared and set by a fleet of servants. I may be mistaken, but it starts to look boring after awhile. The meals I manage to drag to the table after wrangling with the stove, sink and refrigerator are many things, but they are not boring. They are more like the ball that squeaked into the corner of the goal past eight moving legs, than a straight shot with no obstructions.

 

Personally, I am riveted to my own marriage. There is enough suspense to keep me focused on the game.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Chara Odhner

www.caringformarriage.org