Choosing Your Words Wisely

Chapter 1
Speak the truth in love.
—Ephesians 4:15, 24

The goal of confrontation is reconciliation.

I am by nature a peacemaker. I want to keep everyone happy and will work hard to broker peace between others and me. I am convinced that the goal of confrontation is reconciliation.
Sometimes during an argument I am silent—as if ignoring a hurt or a feeling of anger will simply make it go away. I have discovered the hard way that this only delays the inevitable—a burgeoning uneasiness within or, ultimately, a moment of displaced anger. For the sake of understanding my use of the term displaced anger, I define it as a moment when an angry reaction to a situation is more intense than the situation would seem to deserve. What happens in that moment is that because there is unprocessed anger stored away, it gets triggered in a moment of conflict or confrontation. What spews forth is the combination of the past hurt and the present. Many of us have experienced that moment when we asked ourselves, “Where did that come from?”
There is an obvious danger in this dynamic of how we process (or do not) our emotions in a conflict, especially with spouses or close friends. We want to protect and preserve these relationships because they are vital to our emotional and relational health. The failure to deal with deep emotions can come back to haunt us. The reality is when we subconsciously store away these feelings, we can unwittingly lay the ground for resentment and bitterness. The Bible warns against that with these words:
Strive for peace with everyone … see to it … that no root of bitterness springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled. (Hebrews 12:14–15)
Bitterness can take root, make us miserable, and impact the quality of our relationship with others—even those not a part of the cause for it.
As a result, the decision to ignore our anger is not healthy. Later we will talk more about the options available in processing our anger. But for now, let us agree that ignoring our anger and our hurts is not conducive to nurturing and maintaining good relationships.
Why then do we choose to not respond in a moment when we are emotionally impacted in a negative, painful way? Or why is it when we do choose to respond, what comes out only serves to accelerate the tension of the moment? Because that is what frequently happens. We are often reluctant to share our true feelings. In marriage, that can become a contributing factor to a diminished relationship. In friendships, it can signal separation and withdrawal. In business relationships, it can hamper helpful dialogue between coworkers or create disruptive distance between a boss and his or her employees.
Choosing your words wisely is the theme of this book, and it provides a constructive path to responsible, healthy confrontation. The by-product of this can facilitate the opportunity for reconciliation.
Let me illustrate the importance of this principle with an imaginary scenario. Often when this husband comes home from a long day at work, he gives his wife a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, falls into his easy chair, and buries his head in his cell phone. He is processing his day at work and making sure that his emails are caught up and his calendar for the next day is set. His wife has been busy cleaning house and running errands for grandchildren during the day and is in the process of preparing a late dinner. It has been a long day for both. She calls her husband to dinner. He comes willingly but notices that when he tries to make conversation, she seems distant.
“So your day must have been rough? What happened?” he asks.
“Just another day. Nothing major,” she responds with a dismissive tone in her voice.
They dig into their chicken potpies, but it is quiet. Too quiet. The truth is that this is a frequent occurrence, a constant of their life that she has addressed. Only last week she had said to him, “Let me know when you are available,” after he had slipped into his familiar postwork liturgy. She said it with a hint of sarcasm, and he simply grunted and said, “I’m busy right now.” It was not the first time. And their dinner was quiet and uneasy, as it often was.
What is going on in this seemingly innocuous scenario? Should it even matter? The answer is a resounding yes. Both have allowed themselves to settle into a pattern or cycle of behavior that accelerates the distance between them—a natural function of their necessarily separate spheres of life—and they have not learned how to merge these two spheres in a noncombative way. The occasional attempts that she makes are clipped sentences wrapped in passive aggressiveness, and his responses are equally disconnected from what is really in focus here for her. What priority and place do I have in your life? she has inwardly conceded. It doesn’t matter. He will always be who he is and work will always be first, even though he’s supposed to be semiretired. At this point, it is a deep hurt that has been buried away and become a point of resentment. Dinners have become a regimen of sitting across the table and awkward silence, a silence to which they have acquiesced and become accustomed.