Won Without a Word

I didn’t mean to hurt him, yet he was crushed.

Wounded in the spirit.

Unable to speak.

Unwilling to talk through the pain.

Normally, I am the peacemaker. I am the one to apologize—even when I haven’t really done anything wrong. This time I was wracking my memory to recall what I said. I couldn’t figure out how my words could have possibly become weapons of destruction. I still didn’t know.

I was trying to understand. He didn’t want to talk, only accuse.

I prayed for wisdom. I was told it wasn’t my battle, but his.

His last words were, “I think you have said enough.”

I knew differently, but I shoved the conversation I wanted to have back to the innermost recesses of my gut. My prayers would have to suffice.

It was hard to sleep. Unresolved conflict never feels good.

I forced myself to go about my day as usual, avoiding him until I thought he might be able to hear my apology, even though I still didn’t know what it was for.

There he was with a smile. He’d had a breakthrough. He wasn’t mad at me. He wasn’t mad about anything.

Perhaps this is what is meant about the unbelieving being won without a word. I can’t really wrap my head around how problems are solved without talking about them, but then again, I am not the healer of hearts.

 God is.