My wife often forgets to turn off the gas valve at the wall after using the stove—a small safety habit we try to keep in our home. Even after a few gentle reminders, nothing changed. So I wrote a little note—“Please check the gas valve after use”—and stuck it just below the valve.
The next day, I had just finished a bowl of ramyeon and was relaxing on the couch when my wife called out from the kitchen.
“Honey! You forgot to turn off the gas valve!”
As it turned out, I had forgotten too.
“Even monkeys fall from trees,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. But I couldn’t help letting out a quiet laugh. There I was, always quick to point out her mistakes, yet so forgiving of my own. I felt a little ashamed. That day, I made a quiet promise: instead of nagging, I would try to understand her, as if we were one body.
Months passed, and she still occasionally forgot. One time, I noticed and turned it off without saying a word. But the very next morning, after breakfast, I found it open again. Forgetting my promise, I raised my voice. “Could you please remember to turn off the gas valve?”
I felt frustrated. How could something so small be so hard to fix?
I found myself wondering, How can I help her remember this one thing? Then suddenly, the breakfast she had lovingly prepared that morning came to mind. She’s so focused on cooking with care—it’s easy to overlook something like the valve. At that thought, gratitude replaced my frustration, and all my irritation quietly melted away.
Maybe that’s the heart of marriage—two people gently filling in each other’s gaps, with patience and with love.
From now on, she won’t be hearing me say, “Please remember to turn off the gas valve.” If it’s left open, I’ll simply close it—quietly, and with care.