During one summer of my life, I made the ill-fated decision to join a recreational co-ed softball team. Admittedly, it was a match of convenience—I was looking for community, and they were looking for another female to fill one of the slots—but I was confident it was only a matter of time before we hit it off. So to speak.
It quickly became clear, however, that my skills lay elsewhere, and I was delicately asked to be the scorekeeper. I hesitated at first, since I have limited aptitude with numbers, but I figured it had to be better than the outfield. (Believe it or not, you're supposed to keep your eyes open when you catch a fly ball.)
So I learned the ins and outs of keeping stats, and eventually I got pretty decent at it. Except for one thing. Sometimes we'd get to the end of the game and I wouldn't have a clue who'd won. Oh, it was written down right under my nose, of course. But somewhere in the midst of recording strikes and outs and base hits, I managed to lose sight of the big picture. At the end of the day, nobody cared all that much who got walked in the third inning; they just wanted to know if we won.
No Record of Wrongs
At my wedding just over a year ago, the pastor read what might be considered the hallmark passage about love:
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance (1 Corinthians 13:4-7).
I'd heard the passage read at countless weddings before, but it felt weightier, more pointed, now that I was the target. As I looked into the striking blue eyes of the man standing in front of me, I was especially haunted by that one phrase tucked in the middle: "[Love] keeps no record of being wronged." Would I really be able to keep no record of his wrongs?
I got married later in life, so I'd heard plenty of stories about the need for forbearance in marriage. I had a lot to learn about living with a man, I was told by the women who had gone before me. After all, husbands have a tendency to leave the toilet seat up and snore loudly at night and abandon their dirty laundry in haphazard piles on the bedroom floor. I'd need to make sure I didn't hold on to those grievances, grudgingly keeping track of them like I was keeping some kind of marital scorecard.