By Heather Delaney 
Last Sunday, we argued.
Actually, to use the word argued may be a little misleading.
We ignored.
That is how we argue around here. We don’t verbally fight. We don’t scream. We don’t use curse words, or name call.
We ignore.
Basically, we go around the home, pretending that the other is not there (invisible, if you will). Answering to children, doorbells, and phone calls only. Not asking the other what they want for lunch, or if they want coffee made (and not asking for two reasons: one being that you don’t care at that time what they want, the other reason that you know they won’t answer, so bless that).
So, that is our argument.
Let’s title it ‘The Invisible Games” shall we?
The winner?
Well, that’s decided on a game-by-game basis (we’ve both become quite skilled in it, if I do say so myself).
As for the reason behind the argument?
Don’t ask me.
Not that I won’t share it. I mean, I’ll share anything. Hashtag open book right here, my friends.
But rather, I don’t want you to ask me, because I have no answer to give you. That’s right, friends. I have absolutely no freaking idea what it was that we were arguing about. Not a clue. Like, at all. So the chances that it was something particularly petty are obviously pretty high.
Anyway, back to the argument (if that’s what we want to call it).
We spent our whole Sunday like that. All day. All evening. And went to bed like it that night (those of you who can make up before you go to bed, I salute you. I have this thing called a stubborn streak, you see, a gift from the Lord himself).
So the day ended with him on one side of the bed, me on the other. Basically teetering on the side of Mount Everest, whereby falling off of the bed onto the floor would have been a better option than my arm so much as grazing his (again the streak, my friends, it’s strong).
And we woke up the next morning to no kiss goodbye before work. No reassurance to make sure that he took his lunch. No requests to call on dinner break.
The Invisible Games: still in play.
Two hours later, it happened. My phone dinged, and a simple “I love you” was staring at me from the screen. I smiled, replied back the same exact message, and just like that, The Invisible Games came to an end.
With him, the winner. Crowned.
That was the end of that. And here we are, a week later, asking if the other would like to share a pot of coffee (which, by the way, the answer is always yes, always).
Now, looking back, I feel like a fool.
You see, last Sunday was nothing short of a gift, from the big guy himself. We woke up healthy and well, we went to bed healthy and well. But the day itself? We didn’t cherish it like we should have. We weren’t grateful for it like we should have been. We weren’t appreciative of the moments that we could’ve spent together, outside in the garden, or inside arguing over the remote.
Rather, we took the day for granted (after already learning the lesson so, SO many times throughout our adult lives that no day, no moment, should be taken for granted). Yet, we shamefully did.
Why am I sharing this with you?
Well, just in case someone in your life needs you to be the winner.
The one to say “I’m sorry” first. Or to say “I messed up” first. Or, in our case, just to say “I love you” first.
The one to send that first text or to make that first call, to put an end to whatever issues are causing two hearts to feel miles apart.
The one to come to that line in the sand. With a white flag in one hand, and bearing a cup of coffee in the other.
Just be the winner, friends. If for no other reason than hot things in a mug taste better when you’re drinking it with someone you love.
This post originally appeared on foxnews.com
Marriage takes work. Thankfully, there’s an app that can help! Lasting—the nation’s #1 relationship counseling app—provides accessible sessions designed to help you build a healthy marriage. Download and take Lasting’s free Relationship Health Assessment.
by Katie Revai LeFevre 
by Megan Kewaza 
by Angela Williams Glenn 
by Chelsea Drown 
by Wendy C 
by Harmony Vuycankiat 
by Kristyna Moore 
by Jessica Taylor 
