I drove into a new pickle for us to overcome. The heavy treads on a front tire dug into a bank of mud. It made the buggy lurch sideways, sliding it into deep ruts, but high-centered on the ridge between them. We were stuck, but it was a different kind of stuck than all the others we had encountered thus far. Wheels spun wildly, throwing mud and water into the air.

Matt lost his temper! His voice was laced with both frustration and accusation. He said, “I told you to come this way!”

I caught his tone, and felt anger and hurt boiling up inside me. I responded in kind, “If you think you can do better, then you drive!”

I got off the tractor and stomped my way down the road, licking my emotional wounds. The pressure built over the last few days had finally ruptured our usually tolerant facades and our overburdened souls began slinging mud through the fissures. It was not a happy place to be, for either of us!