I was glad/sad to see high click-throughs for my recent post, When Valentine’s Day is hard.
Maybe I’m reading into it. But maybe some of you are army-crawling through hard times. Or know someone who is. (Or are curious to see exactly how I would tackle that beast.)
But I’ve been thinking about conflict lately. I mean, maybe you’ve heard of those couples who insist, “We never fight!”
Maybe, like my husband and me, you’re a couple who does not… never… fight.
And you may be thinking, There are some options here.
- Maybe they’re lying.
- Maybe your own relationship is just as screwed up as you feared.
- Maybe they should batten down the hatches. At some point, it’s gonna blow, baby.
Truth about some low-conflict relationships
I happen to have zero peace-fakers in my family of six. Except maybe me. Every now and then I think a faker would be nice.
But there’s also this: Low-conflict relationships may potentially be high-subtext relationships.
Stay with me here.
This journalist describes subtext as “what is really being said, as opposed to what is apparently being said … nearly everything is implied rather than stated directly.”
Another blogger explains subtext is implicit, not explicit: “Subtext is what you really mean to say.”
When you break the word subtext apart, subtext is what you read underneath what’s said or done in your relationship.
Take my child saying he had no idea I’d told him to fold his laundry. I say flatly, “Really.”
Subtext. You get it.
So back to that relationship where there’s no conflict. Maybe you’ve heard, “If two people were exactly alike, one of them would be unnecessary.” I.e., Chances are decent a husband and wife are not exactly alike. So here comes conflict.
(As it has also been said: Where two or more are gathered, there is conflict.)
Now conflict ≠ arguing. But conflict can be quiet, or it can be loud. So if you don’t disagree verbally, what happens to your differences of opinion?
How intimate can we be if we’re never different? Never sharing anything that rubs the other person the wrong way, or causes them to grow?
“We never fight”: Why does anger matter?
When I spoke recently on the topic of mom anger to a group of women, one of them mentioned her first husband did not permit anger in the home.
I found this a bit horrifying. Because when you forbid an emotion, it simply tunnels underground–and usually pokes out in much less healthy ways.
(I’m not talking self-control, here. I’m talking denial.)
God in part, I believe, gave us anger because he gets angry. And we’re created in his image.
Anger is an activating emotion, causing us to take a stand against injustice. Of course our anger’s miscalibrated like some non-zeroed bathroom scale.
But I there’s wisdom in Sean Connery’s line in First Knight: There’s a peace only to be found on the other side of war.
No, I’m not encouraging you to argue for the sake of it. But is there a chance you’re withholding from engaging in relationships that get a little messy? Or that you’re running from the chance to make your relationship more real?
We don’t need more “sweep it under the rug” families who fail to engage with each other on a level where everyone pretends to be happy, and learns to function by a set of unspoken rules so no one upends the apple cart.
Is that true peace?
Behold: Your opportunity
In my training as a conflict coach, I was reminded that conflict’s an opportunity: to honor God by dealing with sin in a gracious, truthful way, and replay his own self-sacrifice for us all over again. Conflict grows us as individuals, and opens our eyes to opinions outside of ourselves, as well as to our own junk.
Conflict helps us to simply love better. Relationships that weather conflict well can grow stronger. So “we never fight” might, in some contexts, be a missed opportunity.
God has created love in a way that, like he did, we have to reach toward each other. And in conflict, we have a neon-sign opportunity to show each other what Jesus looks like, sacrificing himself and covering the distance to close the gap between us (whether we admit it or not).
Marriage, for example, requires effort to synchronize, to become and stay teammates and best friends. (You might be interested in a post on a slice of this from my own marriage.)
Parenting does, too: especially a child who’s different from us or whose weaknesses feel overwhelming. But I’m pretty glad that I didn’t come with a return policy to either my husband or my parents because I don’t “fit their narrative.”
What about anger with God?
And even in my relationship with God, I’ve come to see that the ways we’re different, may cause me to be angry sometimes.
But speaking honestly with God about my frustration–yet worshipfully and with reverence–can mean I bring my whole self into the sanctuary, like David did (Psalm 6:3, 13:1, 35:17, 94:3, as well as chapters 10 and 109). I can plead and even struggle with him about the ways his character doesn’t seem to match what’s happening.
Because in truth, he knows.
And pressing my emotions to subtext with him can be like trying to hold ping pong balls underwater.
(Maybe you’d like Struggling with Faith? You’re in Good Company.)
Yes, I know the chances are about 100% God’s not wrong. So this isn’t about me proving God’s unjust. Ultimately, at the end of time, there will be no victims of his justice system.
It’s actually the quality of our relationship that’s at stake when I won’t bring him my questions.
What happens when we never fight (or at least disagree)
Lately God’s been prodding me into greater integrity. I’m not talking about falsifying taxes or stealing the office stapler.
I’m saying–I get along great with most people. But if I rarely have conflict with anyone, rarely share troublesome thoughts or opinions, how well does a person really know me?
How well am I bringing my whole self into relationships? Into the whole Body of Christ, so we can change each other?
Yes, there are infinite ways we can screw up conflict. But never having any? That’s a problem, too.
This week, may you lean into true peace, rather than away from conflict.
Like this post? You might like
Don’t Waste That Totally Awkward Conflict
9 ways you might be cannibalizing your personal conflicts, Part I
