Marriage isn't fair.

Why you should stop scorekeeping and start serving.

When I got out of college, I took a ministry job coaching kids across Charlotte that required raising my own salary. As a 23 year old kid, this was a long slow process. I did my best but the early years were full of more failure than success.

Meanwhile, my 4.0 GPA wife had no problem finding a job as a nurse and quickly excelled making significantly more than me in short order. In those early years, I was barely making above minimum wage.

But to us that wasn’t a crisis. It was a season.

It made sense for us, especially as we started a family. Her hours were fixed, mine were flexible. Every extra shift she worked gave us needed income, and I could move things around at work to meet the needs of our daughter. I did a lot of preschool drop-offs, took many long walks with my daughter in the park behind our house, and was often the only dad at the playground. Looking back, I wouldn’t trade those days for anything.

But at the time, it was hard.

I had been told my whole life that I was supposed to make the money. I was supposed to be out in the world while my wife stayed home with the kids. I remember one moment vividly—getting spit-up on during a lunch meeting with a potential donor. I looked down at my shirt and thought, Are you serious? This is not right. This isn’t fair.

True, I was doing what made sense for our family, but I was still tempted to keep score in my head. Being a dad during the day felt like an extraordinary sacrifice—like I deserved bonus points just for doing what my wife would’ve done without applause. The resentment wasn’t loud, but it was there, simmering just under the surface.

That’s what happens when you see your current role as a downgrade instead of a divine calling. When reality doesn’t match your expectations, you start comparing. You start calculating how much recognition you’re getting, how much credit you deserve. You keep mental score not just because you’re selfish—but because you’ve convinced yourself that you’re doing more than your share.

That’s how scorekeeping starts. And let me tell you… it is toxic.

The Morning I Raised My Hand

I’ll never forget one early morning at a men’s Bible study. A group of bankers, construction leaders, and finance guys gathered around Chick-fil-A breakfast sandwiches, and someone began teaching on 1 Timothy 5:8:

“If anyone does not provide for his family... he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.”

Then the leader said, “Raise your hand if your wife makes more than you.”

I was the only one who raised my hand.

I was 15–20 years younger than the rest of the group, and what followed was a long and uncomfortable conversation about whether my work was biblical or masculine enough. One man encouraged me to switch jobs, insisting that I needed to "catch up" to my wife’s salary.

He didn’t ask about my wife’s job or what her going to grad school now would mean for our future. He didn’t ask about my daughter or the blessing of flexibility. He never asked how her Christmas concert was that year, or how sweet it was to be the one who picked her up from preschool when she got sick.

What that conversation did, though—maybe for the first time—was open my eyes to how these men measured their worth. In their world, provision was strictly financial. Manhood was tied to a paycheck. And by that metric, I was behind.

I realized that they had bought in to the lie that my role was a step down. They saw my wife as having a “real” career. To be fair, even I resented the circumstances that made it more economical for her work to have the priority while I shifted, cancelled, and flexed to be available at home. This mindset was causing me to miss the value of what I was contributing, not because it wasn’t real—but because I was too proud to see it.

The truth? We had plenty of money. Our needs were met. We were both working in jobs we felt called to. But I was too busy measuring my sacrifice to appreciate the opportunity I’d been given, to serve my family in a way I never expected.

Now, six years later, my daughter still talks about those days. She remembers them fondly—“our Savvy-Daddy days,” she calls them. And she’s right. They were special, formative, and irreplaceable.

They weren’t a step down.
They were a sacred assignment.

Eventually, I did step into a different season—one with more money and less availability. Not better, just different. I was called to both jobs and loved both jobs. I had to learn that serving my family faithfully doesn’t always look like earning the most. Sometimes it looks like showing up the most. Sometimes provision means a paycheck. Other times, it means presence. The season where I made less financially was the season where I gave different parts of myself. Both were valuable. Both were biblical. Because faithfulness as a father isn’t about proving your monetary worth—it’s about giving your family what they need most, when they need it most.

Stop Asking What You Deserve. Start Asking What They Need.

Those early experiences in our marriage helped me realize that scorekeeping doesn’t just show up in obvious things like income or roles. It starts smaller. It creeps in through everyday moments. A posture of the heart that asks, “What do I deserve?” instead of, “What does my spouse need?” It begins with small, subtle calculations. Who got more rest. Who had more free time. Who did more this week. That mindset can creep into the quiet corners of everyday life and erode the joy of serving. If we want strong marriages, we have to root out that spirit wherever we find it.

If we let it, scorekeeping will turn every act of service, every career decision, every preschool pickup into a kind of transaction—a quiet negotiation where love is measured and sacrifices are tallied. Over time, the home stops feeling like a sanctuary and starts feeling like a marketplace. You might think this kind of system works in your favor, until life throws something hard your way and you’re suddenly the one who can’t give like you used to. What happens when you get laid off? When illness hits? When postpartum depression settles in and the version of you your family once relied on seems to vanish?

Is that really the moment you want your spouse reaching for the ledger, tallying contributions and weighing what you now “owe”?

Or is that the moment when you most need someone who serves without keeping score—someone who loves you not because you’ve earned it, but because real marriage means giving even when no one gives back?

Love Keeps No Record—Of Anything

1 Corinthians 13 says love keeps no record of wrongs. I’d argue it also doesn’t keep a record of rights. Love doesn’t itemize naps, workouts, work trips, spa days, or golf rounds. Love doesn’t leverage acts of service for future bargaining chips.

And most importantly: love doesn’t wait to give until the other person gives equally.

Christ didn’t wait to get what He deserved before giving everything for us. He didn’t die on the cross after we proved ourselves worthy. That’s the model. Marriage isn’t about getting what you deserve. It’s about becoming the kind of person who delights in making someone else’s life better, even when the world doesn’t see it or doesn’t appreciate it.

Choose the Right Person. Then Throw Out the Ledger.

But here’s the thing: this only works when both people are committed to that kind of love. That’s why being “equally yoked” matters so much. Because if one spouse is sacrificing and the other is scoreboard-watching, bitterness is inevitable.

To those not yet married: have the deep conversations now. Talk about roles, values, and how you measure “fairness.” Don’t just look for chemistry, look for character. Look for someone who’s committed to a marriage of mutual sacrifice, not transactional benefit.

To those already in it: maybe you're in a season where your role feels overlooked. Where your work doesn’t come with a paycheck or a title. Maybe you’re the one packing lunches before the sun comes up or rearranging your schedule so someone’s free when the school nurse calls. Maybe you’re coaching the team, doing the late-night grocery run, or sacrificing your workout so your spouse can rest.

It might not feel like leadership. It might not feel heroic. But it is. This doesn’t make you a background character. It makes you a servant leader.

The world may not recognize it. You won’t get a standing ovation. But your family will feel it. And God sees it. The strength to serve quietly. The discipline to give without demanding. The resolve to show up consistently—not because it earns you something, but because it’s what love does. If you're doing that, you’re not falling short. You’re leading well. And you're building something eternal.

Remember: the goal isn’t equal time, equal pay, or equal leisure. The goal is to out-love, out-serve, and out-sacrifice each other—without keeping score.

And when that happens, everyone in the family wins.