It didn't take long into my marriage to discover how incompatible my wife and I were. One reason I was attracted to Barbara in the first place was her apparent interest in theology. We'd spent many happy hours in college taking Bible and religion classes together; we even co-wrote a mediocre paper on the Reformation! Few people have my nutty interest in theology, so I felt especially blessed to have discovered an eligible woman who shared that interest. I proposed as quickly as I could, and I was ready to live happily ever after.
Some days into the marriage I was shocked to discover the truth about Barb. I'd just finished some weighty tome—such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer's Creation and Fall—and encouraged her to read it. She said she wasn't interested. When over the next week I suggested another theology book, and then another, and was turned down repeatedly, I asked what was going on.
"I really don't like theology all that much."
"But what about … ?" I stammered.
"Once in awhile it's okay. But most of the time I find it too dry."
I was floored. Here was the woman of my dreams telling me she wasn't really the woman of my dreams.
That was the first of many shocking revelations. As the years unfolded and we each matured in our own way, the differences became more marked. She liked to get up early; I liked to stay up late—so when exactly were we supposed to have sex? She stayed politically liberal as I became more conservative. She enjoyed being laid back; I liked to plan way in advance. She's energized by a room full of people; I'm drained. She thought the kids should be given a break for being kids; I thought they should be disciplined more. And we couldn't even argue on the same page—I liked to get things out in the open; she liked to do anything but that.1