My brother, Dan, said, "I'm going home. Your bickering drains all my energy."

I defended our behavior, "Ron and I agree on all the major issues. We don't fight about "big stuff", like how to spend our money, where to go to church, or how to raise Nick, we just disagree about the "little stuff."

He sighed and said "Well, I'm sick of hearing you go to war over where to put the towel rack, which TV shows to watch or who's a better driver. It's all dumb stuff. None of it will matter a year from now. Can't you just let it go?"

"No," I replied, "I just keep talking until I get my way. I don't like to lose an argument."

Dan said "You may win the argument, but you might lose your husband."

I dismissed his comment, "Oh, stop being so melodramatic!"

The next evening, we went out to dinner with some friends we hadn't seen in several years. Carl, whom we remembered as funny and outgoing, seemed rather quiet. His wife, Beth, did most of the talking.

After we ordered, she sneered, "Carl, I saw you flirting with that waitress!" (He wasn't.)

"Caarrrrlll," she whined, "can't you do anything right? You are holding your fork like a little kid!" (He was.)

When he mispronounced an item on the desert menu, she said, "No wonder you didn't go to college, you can't read!" She laughed so hard that she snorted. She was the only one laughing.

Carl didn't even respond. He just looked over at Ron and shrugged his sad shoulders.

The rest of the evening was oppressive as she continued to harangue and harass him about almost everything he said or did. I thought, I wonder if this is how my brother feels when I criticize Ron.

We said goodbye to Beth and Carl and left the restaurant in silence. When we got in the car, I spoke first, "Do I sound like her?"

Ron said, "You're not that bad."

I asked, "How bad am I?"

"Pretty bad," he half whispered.

The next morning, as I poured water into the coffee pot, I looked over at my "Daily Devotions for Wives" calendar.

"The wise woman builds her house, but the foolish tears it down with her own hands." Or with her mouth, I thought.

"A nagging wife annoys like a constant dripping." How can I stop this horrible pattern?

"Put a guard over my mouth, that I may not sin with it." Oh dear Jesus, show me how!

I carefully spooned the vanilla nut de-caf into to the pot, remembering the day I forgot the filter. The coffee was bitter and full of undrinkable grounds. I had to throw it away.

I thought, "The coffee, without filtering, is like my coarse and bitter speech."

I prayed, "Oh, please Lord, install a filter between my brain and my mouth. Help me to choose my words carefully and speak in smooth and warm tones. Thank you for teaching me the "Parable of the Coffee Filter." I won't forget it."

An hour later, Ron said, "I think we should move the couch over by the window. We'll be able to see the tv better."

My first thought was to tell him why that was a dumb idea. The couch will fade if you put it in the sunlight and besides, you already watch too much tv.

Instead of my usual hasty reply, I let the coarse thoughts drip through my newly installed filter and calmly said, "That might be a good idea, let's try it for a few days and see if we like it. I'll help you move it."

He lifted his end of the sofa in stunned silence. Once we had it in place, he asked, with concern, "Are you OK? Do you have a headache?"

I chuckled, "I'm great honey, never better. Can I get you a cup of coffee?"