Our first two years of marriage were, perhaps, a simulation of the real thing. We were wed, but we operated in an environment that allowed us to avoid the forced maturation that usually follows the vows. Our focus was still academia. Our jobs were scheduled around campus commitments, and our friendships and leisure activities were unchanged.

We had our share of spats, also a familiar constant. The difference was that we stayed under the same roof during the cool down period. We were both committed to working out our differences and too far away to run home to Mama.

Once, I did run away – but only to the dorm.

David was working as an orderly in a nursing home and usually got off at 10 pm.

I was sitting in my pajamas watching the news when the phone rang.

"Syd, can you come get me? The car was stolen," the tired voice of my new husband said.

"How?" I asked. "That car is our only transportation."

"I don't know. Call someone."

"Okay, but it may take a while. Don't go anywhere. I'll get there as soon as I can."

I called around until I found someone with a car who could take me. After throwing a pair of jeans on over my pajamas, I rushed across town to the nursing home. The place was dark and silent. The doors were locked, and no tired orderly waited impatiently. I managed to attract the attention of a nurse to ask about David.

"Honey, he left half-an-hour ago with Mark," she said in answer to my worried question.

I was livid. I had answered an SOS – for nothing. He didn't even have the decency to let me know he found another way home. Instead of returning to our student apartment, I asked my former roommate, the owner of the commandeered vehicle, if I could spend the night on her dorm floor. I did not call home.

A frantic David called the dorm, waking up my grumpy friend. Of course she knew where I was, but why should she tell the world's biggest jerk? This was the gist of her end of the conversation. He begged her to let him talk to me, but I adamantly refused.

The next morning when I exited the dorm, David was sitting on the front steps. He first tried to justify his actions, but when he realized how mad I was, he apologized for his thoughtlessness.

That incident resulted in a pact that contributed to the health of our relationship. We agreed to abide by Ephesians 4:26b, which advises, "Do not let the sun go down on your wrath."

I didn't have a lot of trouble with that injunction. I am not a sulker, and I do not carry grudges. I can count on one hand the number of times we broke that promise in our 30 years of marriage.

The first half of the verse, though, was not a part of our accord. It states, "Be angry and sin not." I am afraid that my sometimes-swift temper has resulted in too frequent violations of that command.

My temper resembles a Louisiana thunderstorm. A perfectly sunny disposition abruptly clouds over, spitting thunder and lightening, followed by a sudden deluge. The whole thing may last only thirty minutes, but the runoff may result in collateral damage, even after the cheerful temperament returns. Over the years, with divine help, the shrew mostly has been tamed but not without frequent repentance for the sins of the angry.

Probably one of my most memorable tantrums came when Zach was an infant and Josh was a toddler. I was changing the diaper of the wailing, hungry baby. Josh took advantage of my preoccupation, snuck into his father's study, and spilled a cup of coffee onto the sermon David was preparing.

"Sydney," came the roar from the study. "Can't you keep one small boy out of here? My sermon is ruined."

My temper flared. As David emerged from his study, propelling a frightened toddler by the shoulder, I snapped.

"That little nuisance is your son too!" I spewed out my ire. "If you don't want him in there then close and lock the door. If you think keeping up with these small boys is so easy, then you try it for a while."

As I ended my diatribe up a decibel, tears began to stream down my cheeks. I picked up the soggy Pamper I had just removed from Zach and flung it at David. Grabbing my coat from a chair by the door, I exited, leaving a moist husband with two distraught boys.

Who knows what injury I might have inflicted if the nearest missile had been something weightier than a urine-soaked Pamper. Obviously when my temper is engaged, I have trouble with the command to sin not.

I took a long walk that afternoon, long enough to calm my fury and give David an opportunity to experience the solo parenting of our two small sons.

As I walked off my anger, I knew I should apologize to David, but I was certainly tempted not to. In a society where rage is tolerated and in some instances even used as a legal defense, I wanted to abdicate responsibility and remove diaper hurling from the sin category.

As I walked, I argued with God.

"David was being a chauvinist. I had every right to react in outrage," I told Him.

"David and I will deal with his sins," He responded. "You and I only need to deal with yours."

No matter what society justified, I knew God did not view my reaction as either excusable or constructive. When I arrived home, I apologized to David for my sins. I spent several hours soothing Josh and trying to get him to understand that Mommy and Daddy still loved him even if he had been disobedient. Getting a toddler to understand that you overreacted is almost impossible.

#

Mama, with an uncontrolled temper? Faith found the concept difficult to grasp. Her mother had spunk; the word feisty came to mind as a descriptor. But a shrew? Impossible. Syd Lander was Faith's model of decorum. Mama and Daddy had engaged in verbal sparring, but she had hardly ever seen her mother display even a modicum of uncontrolled temper.

When Daddy had rumpled Faith's auburn curls while looking pointedly at Mama and murmured, "We know where this one gets that fiery spirit," she had thought it a compliment.

"So you were a spitfire, Mama," Faith said aloud. "Maybe there's hope for me after all."

Faith and Aaron's courtship had suffered from the yo-yo affect. Fierce disagreements plunged them into misery, while reconciliation returned them to a state of bliss. Each accused the other of mulishness, recognizing in their partner what they first denied and then sheepishly owned in themselves.

When Faith had called Aaron about the movie ticket using the smudged numbers on her palm, she had gotten a smart-alecky voice mail.

"You have the misfortune of missing Aaron King. While someone else enjoys his company, why not leave a message and perhaps you will soon have the privilege of conversing with him."

"You have the misfortune of missing Return of the King. When I sell this ticket on e-bay, it will make up for having to stand in line," Faith said after the beep.

When her phone rang a few minutes later, she recognized his number and let it go to voice mail. After he left three messages – first cheeky, then apologetic, and finally frantic – she answered the fourth call.

"You have the privilege of speaking to Faith Lander," she said into the cell.

"Yeah," he said. "Sorry about the message. I was just trying to get back at my ex. It's no fun being 'the dumped.'"

"I imagine she calls and listens to that message whenever she needs an ego boost," Faith answered.

"Hadn't thought of that. I guess it's time to change it."

"How about, 'You've reached the King of Broken Hearts. Leave a joke and if I laugh, I'll get back to you.'"

"I like the second sentiment. So, about the ticket. The premiere is Saturday. Since you got me out of a jam, how about I take you to dinner and then we'll go together."

"Look, Aaron. Maybe you're a nice enough guy, but..."

Aaron interrupted.

"Maybe? I'll show you just how upstanding I am. On Sunday morning I'll take you to church and for brunch afterwards."

"My, you are desperate – trying to use God for a character reference."

"Did it work?"

"You're on, but I get to pick the church. That way you can't bribe the young adults to vouch for your sterling reputation."

The banter begun on the phone continued during the date. They enjoyed challenging each other with witty comebacks. After the movie, though, they found themselves in an animated discussion of the symbolism found in the film. Each was surprised by the depth of the other's insight.

On Sunday morning Faith practically had to prop her eyelids open, but she was ready when Aaron arrived at 9:30 am.

"I hope you attend a lively church," he said through a yawn. "We sort of burned the midnight oil, and I didn't get my beauty rest."

"So, you would have skipped worship if you hadn't already committed to coming with me?"

"Maybe, but I try not to let my night life interfere with church. I found out how easy it is to get out of the habit when I was in college. I don't intend to go there again. I made some sorry choices when I was away from God."

"Been there, done that," Faith agreed.

To his surprise, she directed him to the Sanctuary.

"This is your church?"

"Um, hmm. You got a problem with it?"

"No. It's just that this is my church too, but I haven't ever seen you here."

"I'm a member of the praise team that sings on Saturday, so I rarely attend on Sunday. Last night a special movie was scheduled, and the musical part of the service was cancelled. I decided to take in the premiere of Return of the King and come on Sunday for a change."

"You sing? Looks like I'm going to have to check out Saturday worship."

"What and interfere with your night life?"

Laughing, the two entered the Sanctuary and began a two-year relationship destined for the altar. Or so it had seemed.

Faith wasn't so sure anymore. She twisted the engagement ring on her left hand and wondered what to do. She glanced over at the silent computer. No message from Kyra.

Briefly, Faith imagined what Aaron would think if he knew she had emailed Kyra. She was sure he would be livid, but then she didn't intend to tell him. She felt like she had when she was little and had lied to Mama. But I haven't lied to anyone, Faith argued with herself. I have just chosen what to disclose. A little voice whispered, "Taking a page from Aaron's playbook?" She silenced the voice with a cherry milkshake and then left to pick up stats.