I’ve heard it said that confession is good for the soul, so here I go: I’m a terrible driver.
I know the stereotype, that men are supposed to be proud of their directional and driving skills, but really, I’m such a bad driver that my inner compass is overshadowed by the horrific way I take to the highway. I speed. I don’t pay attention. I follow too closely. I drive too close to the ditch, and then I swerve over to make sure I don’t go off the road. I don’t drink-and-drive, but I’ve been pulled over because I was suspected of drinking and driving—twice.
If you’re asking what this has to do with marriage, just imagine riding to church with me. Or to run errands. Or driving to the grocery store, home from Christmas, or, heck, anywhere.
If you were in my wife’s shoes, I can only guess what you’d say. You’d tell me to slow down, pay attention, move there, drive this way, stop, or go. You would refuse to ride with me until I got better. You may even question my care for the family.
Well, my dear and loving wife did all those things. And more. Most of the time we get along swimmingly, but when we would drive somewhere, things got tense. Like I’m-wearing-a-pork-chop-sweater-in-the-lion’s-den kind of tense.
I’ll have to admit, driving with her wasn’t great, either. Yes, I know I’m the one with the problem, but she wasn’t improving matters with comments or sighs of disappointment or (in rare cases) shrieks of panic when I accidentally ran off the road. The running commentary on how I was “doing” wasn’t doing much to help.
After months and years of swinging from pep talk to plea to ultimatum and back again, she just stopped. She knew perfection wasn’t going to happen and she quit giving input.
Now if you’re thinking that she just shut her mouth, bit her tongue in half and smiled her way through it, you’re mistaken. I’ll go further by saying that if you are trying to keep your mouth shut about a habit a loved one has, then you probably won’t succeed.
I want to give a very clear caveat: for a few of us, this scenario is scary. It involves addiction or infidelity or another marriage-killing scenario, and there hasn’t been much change. I would say, first, that I am very sorry you’re in that situation, and I would encourage you to seek caring, professional, long-term help, not just for your spouse, but for you.
I’m really talking about that thing, that issue in your marriage that is sensitive. It’s not life-threatening, but it certainly is annoying. Like how she’s never on time. Or he’s had four jobs in as many months. Or the bills. Or his mother. Or that she doesn’t believe in Jesus. Or something else that’s not necessarily life-threatening, but it’s marriage-destroying.
What do you do when you realize that you’ve said all you can say, and your spouse cannot (or will not) change?
Coming from the other side, from the one who had (still has) the problem, who has been begged and pleaded with, there are probably a bunch of things you can do.
But I’m thinking there’s one key, and it’s a big one: you should destroy the file.
Most of us have a file on our spouse, right? It’s that evidence we keep, just in case we need it, in case we get in a fight and things get nasty. I’m talking about those memories that are painful or scary. The annoyances, the disappointments. It’s the record of wrongs, the litany of pain. Some have graduated to a couple of files or even a cabinet. Some of us couldn’t imagine leaving those files. Destroying that, leaving it in the past, would leave us vulnerable, in case the other side has a file, too.
Yet, it took me awhile to realize that driving with Sunday had changed. But she didn’t just remain silent. She started laughing with me, having conversation, listening to music. She went beyond giving up her right to be correct. She put on her seatbelt and moved toward me.
When I Corinthians 13:5 says that love ”does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs,” the difficulty is in that last part. Keeping a record of wrongs is often the root of being easily angered, self-seeking, and dishonoring. If you burn the file, chances are, you will be able to do that other stuff. If you choose self-righteousness and keep the file, you’ll never love like I Corinthians 13 describes. Ever. Guaranteed.
Now what does that mean? Do you just shut up and take it? Never.
We’ve had a saying around our house, and it’s a signal to one of us (usually me, by the way) that we’re moving quickly toward a choice: You can be right or you can be married, but you can’t be both.
Sunday, as she usually does, chose to be married, and it took great effort on her part.
To remain in her self-righteousness meant that she was closing herself off from a flourishing relationship. Because if one person is right, then you know what that makes the other person.
When you choose to be right, you’re usually wrong.
When you burn the file, you’ve made a decision to be married.
FEATURED CONTRIBUTOR:
Matthew Towles is the Chair of the Department of English and Modern Languages at Liberty University. He and his wife, Sunday, help to lead a marriage ministry at Blue Ridge Community Church in Forest, Virginia.
