I was right. Not just a little bit, but 100 percent right, just like I am with all the disagreements between my wife and me.
And yet, somehow my wife could not see the flawlessness of my logic. Despite knowing that I'm rarely proven wrong (if the word rarely means about 97 percent of the time), she still had the audacity to suggest that I was wrong about where to put our new television in the living room.
Battle lines were drawn, experts (anyone who agreed with me) were consulted, and arguments were made. Appeals were pled to logic, emotion, and anything else that we thought would prove our individual causes.
Of course, given that we were both seminary students, the arguments became theological. I'd recommend to my wife that this might be one place where she should follow my leadership, and she'd remind me of my responsibility to love her sacrificially. Round and round we went: I pushed for a location above the fireplace; she pushed for one along the opposite wall.
Days went by with no movement from either camp. A compromise seemed out of the question until one day I saw an ad for a local furniture store. The ad contained the answer to our problem: an entertainment center that would raise and lower the TV at the push of a button. The entertainment center was economical, making me happy, and it was aesthetically pleasing, making my wife pleased as well. Now her desire to be able to make the TV disappear could be granted, and my wish to be able to still see the TV from the kitchen area could come true.1