Carolyn and I are different in about a million ways. Need proof? Gladly.

I tend to give a quick “yes” to things—she usually starts with a “no” because she needs time to process and be convinced.

She can visit with house guests for three or four hours without moving—I have an internal alarm that starts squawking after 90 minutes.

I’m a multitasker with a splash of ADHD—I can juggle five things at once. Carolyn prefers to focus deeply on one thing at a time.

She has a designated place for every kitchen item—I unload the dishwasher and put things in places based on what feels right.

When conflict arises, I want to solve it immediately—Carolyn needs space to think and process.

She wants to feel the problem (and wants me to feel it too)—I instinctively want to fix it.

I jump into projects without counting the cost—Carolyn carefully considers the time, money, and energy before giving a thumbs up.

She relaxes by watching a movie or having a long conversation—I relax best while doing something: biking, yardwork, or fixing an old boat.

I get a weird thrill from checking the budget every few days—Carolyn prefers to spend first and review the numbers later (maybe).

On vacation, I love to write—blogs, books, whatever. For Carolyn, that feels like work and doesn’t belong anywhere near a beach.

Carolyn is spatially challenged and gets turned around easily—I’m calendar-challenged and constantly forget important dates.

I connect best with God while mowing the lawn or sailing—Carolyn connects best in the quiet of her prayer chair, same time every morning.

She checks every expiry date twice—I trust my nose, and if there’s no green fuzz, it’s good to go.

These differences—and many more—have caused their fair share of misunderstanding, frustration, and even some arguments. But over time, we’ve learned something powerful: Being different doesn’t mean being wrong.

TEST YOUR OWN HEART

When Carolyn and I got married, we didn’t come in as blank slates—we each carried decades of personal preferences, formed habits, and a firm sense of what was “right.”

We’d each spent years making decisions that worked for us—and naturally assumed those same ways of thinking and doing would work just as well in marriage. But suddenly, our deeply ingrained “this is the right way” instincts were bumping into each other—daily.

It wasn’t always dramatic, but it was constant:

How to load the dishwasher.

How to handle money.

How to solve conflict.

How to show love.

How to plan a weekend.

What felt “obvious” to one of us often felt “off” to the other. And because we both believed our way made the most sense, tension would quietly build. Not because one of us was wrong—but because we had forgotten that different doesn’t mean wrong.

It took time (and a few humbling conversations), but eventually we began to learn that unity in marriage doesn’t come from sameness—it comes from humility.

That’s why this verse from Ephesians has become so important in our relationship: Ephesians 4:2–3 (NIV)

“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.”

Unity in marriage doesn’t start by thinking the same way or convincing your spouse you’re right—but by checking your own heart?

Gentleness, patience, and humility opened more doors than demanding, convincing, or controlling ever could?

So, the next time you bump into an annoying or frustrating difference, remember this little phrase – ‘different, not wrong’.

FUEL & SPARK

Q: When was the last time you confused your spouse’s difference with a defect? What was it and how would ‘different not wrong’ change the experience?

Q: If ‘different doesn’t mean wrong,’ what might it mean instead? (name as many options as you can)

Q: What’s one quirky preference your spouse has that used to frustrate you—but might actually be a hidden strength?

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