“What’s wrong baby?” I asked.
My husband seemed sullen, so quiet and expressionless. I was certain there was something on his mind. Something bothering him.
“Nothing.” He replied curtly as he walked into the other room.
Really?! I thought as he walked away. It didn’t escape me for a moment that he wasn’t making eye contact, or that he was busying himself with mundane tasks as he left my immediate presence.
And so it began. The nothing fight. We don’t fight much, and honestly seldom argue, but if we find ourselves in a disagreement it’s usually in this standard format.
Five years! I thought. And my temper began to flair. On the inside where it could stew. Five years we’ve been married, and he still thinks I can’t read him like a book!
After many years together I felt like I knew when something was on my spouse’s mind, and the certainty that right this very moment something was bothering him seemed crystal clear to me. The fact that he wasn’t spilling it infuriated me. I have no idea why. But it did.
We’re supposed to talk through things! I told myself, and I wondered why he wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain.
What had I said, or done? I wondered.
As he came back into the room carrying his shoes I asked again, “Is something wrong?”
He looked up from pulling on a boot, and I didn’t miss the tedious, annoyed expression. “Nope.”
Nope. I had gotten the dreaded, short “nope.” Sigh. Why wasn’t he telling me?!
Immediately I began searching my brain for what I must have done to accidentally piss him off. I pondered, but came up short.
Why was he being so quiet? I wondered, and I felt anger building within me. I was mad. Although I couldn’t tell you why any more than I could tell you why he wasn’t talking.
I went into the other room.
In his absence my fury grew, and it was cultivated by rogue thoughts that began to emerge within my brain. For some reason his silence made me recall how he never picked up his dirty clothes, and I suddenly found myself fuming over inconsequential instances that I typically let slide.
I am the only person around here who knows how to pick-up after myself apparently! I only voiced this complaint to myself for even in my irrational anger I understood my feelings were misplaced.
Instead I walked back into the room where he sat. His shoes were on, and he was peering down at his phone. He’s playing a game! I raged internally. Doesn’t he know I’m mad?
I loudly rearranged dirty dishes on the table so he could feel my wrath.
But he sat silently playing with his phone. Fine! I won’t say anything either! I’ll see how he likes it.
And so began the silent treatment. A showdown that men will always win. No matter the outcome. Although in all fairness, I’m pretty sure he was unaware of the stakes.
We drove to town in silence, other than the sound of children talking loudly, and the blaring cartoon with which they competed. I looked out the window begrudgingly, my sunglasses disguising the evil glare I gave the birds. They chirped happily like nothing was amiss.
When we pulled up to the teller at the bank window my husband smiled and pleasantly said hello to her. I stewed silently at his side. I looked down at his strong hands as he signed the deposit slip, and despite my anger I smiled. It hit me then.
I felt the urge to touch his hand, to place my fingers through his. And as I looked at him I realized something, and to myself I spoke. Even when I’m mad at you I love you.
I reached out quickly, and even though a tiny, vain part of me felt like I was conceding I could not help but place my hand on top of his. Immediately his other hand covered mine. It patted, and then stroked my fingers before giving them an affectionate squeeze.
I thought it again. Even when I’m mad at you I love you. And I smiled despite myself.
I knew that was what made us work. Even when anger reared its ugly head, love overshadowed all else. Forgiveness won out over hurt feelings. Especially the imagined kind.
It didn’t matter who was right, or even who was wrong. It didn’t matter what was unsaid, or even if there had ever been anything to say. Communication was key, but sometimes there’s nothing to say, or words don’t come easy. That’s when grace prevails.
Grace covers where we all fall short, and unconditional love picks up the slack. It shows you what’s before you, that God-given gift you have in your spouse, and it clears the clouded judgement of anger from your eyes.
Sometimes an argument is valid, and sometimes the anger is justified. Other times maybe not. Regardless, the important part is always the reaction.
Even when I’m mad at you… I love you. Even when I’m angry, I love you still.