Probably the biggest shock that challenged my rose-tinted view of marriage was the realization that my husband's selfish bent was not solved by love. (Mine wasn't either, but of course, I did not see my own selfishness nearly as clearly as I saw his.)

"I didn't know I could love someone more than I love myself," I heard David tell a friend.

I thought that meant that he would become my I Corinthians 13 lover. This Biblical passage paints the picture of perfect love. One of the attributes of this love is that it is not self-seeking. Somehow I convinced myself that David would always have my best interest at heart. When you translate that into everyday life, I expected David to: 1) anticipate my needs in a relationship, 2) listen patiently to my side when we had disagreements – and usually see the wisdom of my advice, and 3) buy me thoughtful presents without my having to list for him the desires of my heart.

The rude awakening came quickly. David worked a lot of weekends, since he had to fit his schedule around classes. He came in one day on cloud nine.

"I convinced them to give me Saturday off," he said with a huge grin.

My mind immediately jumped to the possibility of an afternoon shopping spree – we still had sheets hanging over the windows – followed by dinner and a movie.

"I told the guys there was no way I was going to miss the season opener," he continued, clueless that he had just burst the 'loving husband' bubble.

He knew I was no football fan. How could he plan a football evening on his first Saturday off? Swallowing convulsively, I ventured, "Could we go shopping in the morning for curtains and things?"

He pulled out his wallet and took out a couple of 20s.

"Knock yourself out, Sweet. I won't need the car. Andy will pick me up."

"You mean you're spending the day with the guys?" I asked in my calm-before-the-storm voice.

"Hey, I know you don't like football, Hon. I don't expect you to come. You can drop by the tailgating party in the parking lot, though, if you like. We'll have barbeque and cokes. If you get done shopping quickly, you can even come watch our game of tag football. I'm rusty, but I was always the star runner on my intramural team."

"You insensitive dolt!" I shouted as tears started to stream down my cheeks. "We haven't done anything fun since school started, and the first weekend you get off, you run off with the guys."

He tried to console me. He promised that he would get another weekend off, and I could make the plans. He suggested I use the curtain money and take my girlfriends to a tearjerker. He said he'd cook Sunday dinner. Nothing helped, because the offer to change his plans with the boys never came. I told him to go spend the night with Andy in the dorm and dream about his cozy marital bed.

Our first Christmas was just as eye opening. My first discovery was that he could care less about the trappings of Christmas. He would let me decorate if I wanted, but we didn't have the funds to spend on useless seasonal frippery. He let me invest in a string of lights. A bag of popcorn with which to string garland and a roll of ribbon that could be fashioned into bows on the tree boughs were the only other concessions. I thought he would at least join me in stringing popcorn while we played festive music. Nope. He watched television and never lifted a finger.

The second shock came when I asked how much he thought we should spend on each other's Christmas presents. I knew the amount would be meager, but I expected the spirit to compensate.

After we settled on $10 each, he handed me a ten-dollar bill and said, "Buy yourself something nice, wrap it up, and put it under the tree."

"You expect me to buy my own present?"

"Sure, that way I know you'll get something you really want, and we won't have to make an exchange."

"But then I won't have a surprise."

"Your parents have already sent presents." He pointed to the box in the corner. "That can be your surprise."

"Look, Scrooge," I retorted. "If I buy my own present, it will take all the fun out of Christmas. What makes a present a true gift is the thought one puts into its selection."

"I'll never understand women," he said, taking back the $10 bill. "So what do you want me to get you?"

"If I tell you what to get me, I might as well buy it myself."

"You want me to spend hours in a store looking at women's stuff trying to figure out what you want for Christmas?"

"I've dropped lots of hints. Don't you even pay attention when we go window shopping?"

"Not to your stuff. I let you look at clothes and jewelry and knickknacks so you'll let me look at tools and cool stuff life that."

We finally came to a compromise. I made him a list of possible Christmas gifts and the locations where he could buy them. He bought me a gift off the list, but it was a surprise because I didn't know which one he chose. He offered to make me a list, but I told him I didn't need one. I had paid attention on those window-shopping expeditions, and I had a list of possible gifts already in mind.

The final disillusionment came when we talked about traditions. The only traditions he cared about were opening presents, stuffing himself with food, and watching sports on television. After the season opener debacle, David realized he needed to humor me some if he wanted to hang onto the television habit. We designated Christmas Eve as our time for tradition building. We decided to honor the spirit of the season by reading the Christmas story and singing Christmas carols before we opened our gifts. After the exchange of gifts, we had a junk food feast and ended the evening with a game. On Christmas morning we slept in, and then I prepared the traditional spread while he watched TV.

#

Faith identified with her mother's description of men's selfish tendencies. The things her Dad had done, though, seemed trivial in light of Aaron's transgression. Just thinking about it still made her angry.

She was already packed and planned to leave for Monroe the next morning without talking to Aaron. After reading about her selfish father, she decided that she would give her own selfish man something to stew about. She snapped out the light and snuggled down in bed with her phone, expecting her righteous indignation to fuel a peaceful night's sleep.

When Aaron answered, he didn't even say hello. Instead he voiced a question. "Are you ready to talk now?"

Faith could hear the frustration in his voice.

"You have no right to take that tone of voice with me." Faith's knuckles turned white as she gripped the phone. Her voice shook. "After your selfish revelation, you expect me to just forgive you and go on with our marriage like nothing ever happened?"

"Selfish?" His voice rose. "I've done a lot of selfish things, Faith, but telling you about the abortion wasn't one of them. How would you have felt if I had kept it a secret and then you found out later?"

When she started to say something, he interrupted.

"Wait, don't answer that. I know you think I unburdened my soul to clear my conscience. If that were true, then it would have been a selfish action, but it's far from the truth. I knew that by telling you I risked losing you."

His voice broke.

"Can't we sit down and talk about this, Faith? Face to face, I mean, not on the phone. After we talk, if you want to give me the ring back, I'll take it. Just give me one more chance to explain."

"I will, Aaron, I promise," Faith said. "But there's something I have to do first. I'll be gone for about a week. When I get back, we'll talk – face to face like you want."

"Gone? Where? Why?"

"The paper gave me some vacation days." Faith fudged a little in the telling.

"I need to get away from everything and try to relax. I'm going to stay in a bed and breakfast for a week. I'll do some reading. Maybe the change of scenery will help me come to grips with my grief."

After hanging up, she felt glum instead of satisfied. Unable to sleep, she snapped the light back on and continued to read.