Speaking the truth in love... or not

Little Michael (as opposed to Big Michael, my husband) was helping me with some farm work last week. It was grunt work, not very exciting, but necessary and a task that needs to be done regularly. He came in to get a drink of water, wiped his forehead and said, “When I tell people I work on a farm they always say, ‘Oh, how wonderful! Good honest labor!’ They have no idea.” We both know that folks who visit see beautiful pastures, mountain views, horses and donkeys, cows, chickens and it is romantic. They do not see or appreciate the daily stall mucking, feeding cows twice a day in bone chilling weather, picking up a chicken carcass mauled by a raccoon, hot sweaty hay baling in the summertime, changing the oil in the tractor or mending the fence line, an unending task. Like most of us, usually all we see of another’s life is the shiny bright surface not the hard work it takes to create a life. Finding the words and speaking the truth of your life is not an easy proposition.
One of the reasons I love animals is their direct form of communication. When Wiley the cat is hungry, he won’t stop yowling until you feed him. When Junie B is miffed with you for being so slow to let her out of the stall, she will nip you on the arm with her lips. If Barney is frightened of the UPS man, he barks very very loudly. The UPS man now leaves our packages by the front walk where he can drop them without getting out. Dixie, the head horse, will bite the others on the butt if they don’t move when she thinks they should. Subtlety is not a part of their communication process. They work hard to survive in a world dominated by two legged creatures who control their destiny, so straightforward communication is a necessity.
I did not learn good skills for communication of feelings growing up. When daddy got mad, he stopped talking and it was your job to try to figure out why. Usually it wasn’t your fault but you were always left wondering. Positive feelings were equally stifled for him. Growing up in a harsh household scarred him and saying “I love you” was painful. He carried all his feelings clutched close with an occasional eruption, using his rational argumentative self to keep them at bay. But, daddy showed up. He proved his love by being there, providing shelter for family members who needed help or a place to live, respite while they caught their breath for a fresh start. He couldn’t say the words but he could do the work.
I am fairly placid most of the time on the surface. Michael tells me I am like a duck floating on a pond. Serene to public view but paddling like crazy underneath. That is, I think, an accurate assessment. I learned the art of public serenity growing up and I also have a dose of Granddaddy in my gene pool. He was a gentle man whose calm sweetness provided the perfect foil for my grandma’s tartness. I am slow to anger generally and even slower to voice it. When I reach the point of no return in expressing anger, I have been paddling around in that feeling for awhile.
Last week I had occasion to express anger forcefully with and directed to a particular person. Reflecting upon the experience, I realized I was angry not only at that person for not doing what they said they would do, but also because their behavior was hurting people I love. I had no dog in the fight directly. Either this person measured up or he didn’t. If he didn’t, he didn’t and I bore no more responsibility for his life. But people I care about have been hurt. People who are connected to this lost life are scared and worried, feeling guilty and frustrated while struggling to help someone who doesn’t seem to get the message.
Speaking the truth in love is not an easy or tidy process. Feelings get hurt. Defense systems are activated. Both the speaker and the hearer pay a price when shields are let down for individual truth speaking. The price paid however can lead to a richer more rewarding way of being family. Jesus got mad and lost it a time or two. Fig trees and Pharisees, both barren in fruit, raised his dander and the stories of his righteous indignation relieve some of my anxiety about my anger management skills or the lack thereof. Getting mad, speaking your piece and getting over it... Jesus knew how to do that. I still need some practice. I suspect many of us do.