Naked Communication, available at: ForYourMarriage.org


Happily Even After

Naked Communication


June 15, 2010

Communicating well is difficult enough on its own. Throw in a busy schedule and three young children and it is amazing it happens at all.

It will often happen that Stacey and I have a disagreement or a difference of opinions on a matter and we’ll begin to talk it out. This “talk it out” phase can take place at any given time during the day: making dinner or cleaning up after it, making lunches, driving in the car, taking a shower, checking homework. Rarely does it happen that all three children are asleep or occupied and Stacey and I can pour a cup of tea and sit at the table to talk about our differences. It usually happens in the middle of something, and often at the worst possible moment.

The result is a very fragmented conversation.

For example, this morning, as we were getting ready to go to Sunday Mass, Stacey and our oldest child were having a disagreement while Stacey was getting ready for the day in the bathroom. I could see it coming, and removed him from the situation in the middle of the conflict.

She indicated to me that she was very hurt and frustrated. I had effectively usurped her parenthood at that moment—preventing her from seeing her conflict through. I was frustrated that the conflict had happened in the first place when I could see it coming and tried to prevent it. In that moment, we were broken—we were not in the same relational space. We were in two different worlds.

Well, the day had to progress—kids were ready for Mass and Father John was not going to wait for us to have a conversation before starting the opening procession. We both had to take showers, so while the kids were wrestling downstairs, we found ourselves having a conversation about parenthood standing in the bathroom, both stark naked.

Talk about being honest with one another.

In our best moments, we seize what time and space we can to be able to get on the same page with one another. Sometimes, that means telling our children that they’ll have to find some way to keep busy until we’re done. Often, it means being able to talk and work at the same time.

At our worst, we get impatient, overwhelmed, and crabby with each other and with the kids. At our best, we both commit to communicating honestly with one another, knowing that we’ll get to the other side of it if we both dive in and make an effort to see things form the other’s perspective.

Once in a while, we’ll both see that we don’t have the time and space to get through an issue, and we’ll identify a time later in that same day when we will be able to talk it through. This is a good approach, as it gives us space to think through what happened and why. When we come back together, we are usually more level-headed.

So this morning, standing naked with one another in a small bathroom, we talked it out. We heard each other out, and got to the heart of the matter quickly. I was able to apologize to Stacey for stepping into her conflict in a troublesome way, and she was quick to accept my apology and move on. While we were getting dressed, she kissed me and we went to Mass in a much better mood.

There are Sunday mornings when the sign of peace carries more meaning than others.

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Sweet Nothings

Sweet Nothings

This past August marked 20 years since Stacey walked into my life.

We were college freshmen, and she argued for an adjustment to her schedule that placed her in the same first-year seminar that I was in. The moment she walked in the door, I knew I wanted to get to know her more.

Her natural beauty struck me first—she wore no makeup and did not wear flashy clothes. I also noticed her manners—in negotiating the schedule adjustment with our professor, she was polite and clear and humble.

So, when the anniversary of this date rolled around last August, I wanted to celebrate it as the watershed moment it was in my life. God’s providence was at work in the first week of classes of the fall of 1994 because our meeting changed my life in an utterly unanticipated, transformative way. I wanted to renew my appreciation for that mystery, and I wanted to share with Stacey something of the grace-filled surprise she has been to me, so I committed myself to writing her 20 poems. That would be one poem for each year our lives have touched, and I told her she’d receive them all by our anniversary date (which is this week, May 9).

I’m pleased to report that I’ve been able to keep my promise—I have 20 poems written and shared. They took every form—limericks, free-form, sonnets, ballads, rhyming and non-rhyming alike. There are more than a few haiku, my favorite form to write and the most convenient for their brevity.

After composing each poem, I found some way to surprise her with it—dropping it in her work items, or under a pillow, or in a shoe. I wanted her to come upon them in unexpected ways.

I had to stretch a bit to find new subject matters, but I was glad for the challenge because it gave me a chance to draw upon important memories and impressions from the past two decades to share. Some made her laugh, some made her blush. All made her smile.

I had been feeling a little humdrum in our relationship—after 20 years, the routines and rhythms of interaction are very familiar and predictable, which is a great comfort in many ways, but also can lead to monotony. I found myself “settling” for less in some ways—not always giving 100%, or falling a little too easily into selfishness. I thought this would be a good way to shake things up—to keep things fresh. It was a discipline that had me reflecting on our relationship and offering affirmation to Stacey in a regular way (to stay on pace, I had to write a poem every other week).

And this poetry project has accomplished that end. One pillar of virtue ethics is the notion that virtue is not inherited or learned, it is acquired through practice. That is to say that if we want to be brave, we must act bravely in large and small ways until we become a person who is brave in all situations. I found that reflecting on our relationship in this creative way has grown my capacity for loving Stacey, and appreciating the gift she is for me.

Theology defines a mystery as something that we cannot come to the end of understanding. In other words, it is not that we know nothing of a mystery—it is that we can’t come to the end of knowing a mystery. The 7,400 days that we’ve known each other have not worn off the sense of wonder that struck me when I first saw Stacey—they have only deepened it.


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