The first stage of a relationship is that wonderful stage, the urge to merge. You’re in hormone heaven. You’ve found the perfect person. She always looks good, smells good and never goes to the bathroom.

Then you get married, and another stage begins. It’s war. Before marriage, opposites attract. If you have a Dead Sea personality, you are attracted to a babbling brook. After marriage, opposites attack. The very thing that attracted you now ticks you off. Sometimes it starts early. One couple got up on the first day after their honeymoon, and he said, “Where’s my hot breakfast? Mother always made me a hot breakfast.” She responded, “If you want a hot breakfast, stick your Froot Loops into the microwave.” And the war has started. You realize you don’t have a perfect person. He doesn’t always look good, smell good, and sometimes he spends a lot of time in the bathroom.

I married what I affectionately call the original Mrs. Clean. Everything has its place, and it better be there. I knew I was in trouble when Penny wanted to clean up the rice at the wedding before we left on our honeymoon. In her closet, all the clothes are color-coded, and the shoes face north. This girl is precise. For her, cleanliness is next to godliness.

For me, if cleanliness is next to godliness, I must be an atheist. I’m what is clinically called sloppy. I thought God made poster beds for pants, shirts and underwear. I think it was my underwear on her side of the bed that really ticked her off. You might say we had a brief problem.

It was an adjustment. I had to read the paper in one sitting or it would be thrown away. I had to keep an eye on my Diet Coke glass or it would be in the dishwasher. I asked her one day, “What do you think God is teaching me by giving me a wife who cleans things up before I’m finished?” She said that God was trying to teach me to enjoy things while I had them because I never knew when I was going to lose them. The war stage was tough.

Unfortunately, most people continue the war. One time the devil visited the church, and everybody ran out of the building except for one man on the second row. He didn’t move and just sat there. The devil said, “Do you know who I am?” He said, “Yes.” The devil said, “Are you afraid of me?” He said, “No, not a bit.” The devil said, “Why not?” The man said, “I’ve been married to your sister for 53 years.” Now that’s a guy who stayed in the war.

It’s hard to let go of the “perfect person fantasy.” We get discouraged when Cinderella turns into a nag, and Prince Charming turns into a toad. The fact is, there are no perfect people, and the reason you didn’t get someone any better is because of your own imperfections. The way to end the war is to tear up the fantasy picture of a perfect person and accept the real person as a gift from God. You need to realize that the very things that irritate you are the areas that you need to work on and grow in. If you don’t tear up the picture, you’ll spend your life tearing up the person by trying to make her look like your fantasy. (Oh, you’ll sleep with the enemy and kiss her every now and then, but it will still be war.)

The third stage of marriage is work. You decide that incompatibility is why you got married, and that together you can be much better than you could have been apart. In my marriage, I’ve learned to become self-disciplined and hang up my britches, and Penny has loosened up to the point that she lets me enjoy the entire Diet Coke before it goes into the dishwasher.

The best way to continue the work of marriage is to understand the worship of marriage. Realize that people need love the most when they least deserve it. And you don’t love them because of what they do but because of who you are: a person who is loved with a perfect love. Until you realize that you are loved with a perfect love, you cannot love imperfect people. When perfect love casts out all of your fear, you learn to worship the ground your spouse walks on, which takes you back to the wonderful stage. That — and separate bathrooms — will make a wonderful marriage.