The Casserole Dish I Left on Her Porch Instead of Knocking
I made the dish Tuesday night, the same recipe I always make when I don't know what else to do with my hands, and I drove it over to my neighbor's house after the thing she said to me at the block meeting, the thing that landed harder than she probably meant it to and that I have been turning over in my head for four days now. I pulled into her driveway, walked the dish up to the porch, set it down by the mat, and drove away before she ever opened the door. I told myself I was just being considerate, that she was probably busy, that leaving it was its own kind of apology. I knew exactly what I was doing. I was apologizing to a porch so I would not have to apologize to a person.
I have been sober thirteen years, and conflict was one of the last things sobriety actually fixed in me, long after the drinking stopped. I used to believe I had become a peaceful man simply because I no longer threw plates or slammed doors the way I did in my worst years. What I have had to admit lately is that I just traded loud conflict for quiet avoidance, and avoidance can look an awful lot like patience if nobody examines it too closely. I do not yell anymore. I disappear instead, and I have spent years calling that growth.
Jesus does not let me get away with that kind of substitution. He tells a crowd bringing their offerings to the altar that the gift itself is not the point if there is unfinished business sitting behind it. "Therefore if you bring your gift to the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar, and go your way. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift" (Matthew 5:23-24, NKJV). He does not say wait until the feeling passes. He says go now, before you do the religious thing you were about to do, because the religious thing is not actually complete without the conversation you are avoiding.
Solomon names the specific tool I keep leaving in the drawer. "A soft answer turns away wrath, But a harsh word stirs up anger" (Proverbs 15:1, NKJV). I used to think my silence counted as a soft answer, since at least I was not saying anything harsh. I am starting to see that silence is not actually on the list. It is a third option Solomon never mentions, because leaving a dish on a porch and driving away is not softness, it is just a quieter version of refusing to answer at all.
Paul writes to the Romans with language that sounds almost too honest about how limited my control over this really is. "If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men" (Romans 12:18, NKJV). As much as depends on you. He is not promising I can manage her response, or guarantee the conversation goes well, or make her receive my apology the way I want it received. He is only asking for the part that depends on me, which is showing up and saying the actual words, not the part where I control how it lands.
Here is where my own reasoning has never once gotten me through a conflict like this one. I can build a reasonable case for why driving away was fine, why some relationships are better left to cool off, why words exchanged in person only risk making things worse. The case can sound sensible and still leave the exact same tightness in my chest that was there before I built it, because the tightness was never actually a reasoning problem. Paul warns the Ephesians about exactly how fast that kind of unfinished business turns into something worse if I keep managing it with my own strategy instead of dealing with it. "Be angry, and do not sin: do not let the sun go down on your wrath, nor give place to the devil" (Ephesians 4:26-27, NKJV). Four days is a lot of suns.
This is what abiding in the Spirit gives that my own avoidance never could, not a script for the conversation but an actual peace underneath it that does not wait for the outcome to be settled first. Paul tells the Romans where that peace actually originates, and it is not a decision I talk myself into. "For to be carnally minded is death, but to be spiritually minded is life and peace" (Romans 8:6, NKJV). My own mind, left to itself, keeps building better excuses for the porch. The Spirit does not negotiate with the excuses. He just keeps calling me back toward the door I drove away from. Paul tells the Colossians what it looks like when that peace actually takes charge instead of my own management of the situation. "And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to which also you were called in one body; and be thankful" (Colossians 3:15, NKJV). Rule, not merely visit. A ruling peace does not let me leave a dish on a porch and call it finished.
I walked back over yesterday and knocked, actually knocked, and stood there until she opened the door, and the conversation was shorter and far less dramatic than four days of dreading it had led me to expect. God is alive today, and He already knows exactly which door you have been leaving things on instead of knocking. He has a plan for you that includes the hard, short conversation you keep driving away from, and He has told you plainly that He will not leave you to face it alone. "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand" (Isaiah 41:10, NKJV).
I have been sober thirteen years, and conflict was one of the last things sobriety actually fixed in me, long after the drinking stopped. I used to believe I had become a peaceful man simply because I no longer threw plates or slammed doors the way I did in my worst years. What I have had to admit lately is that I just traded loud conflict for quiet avoidance, and avoidance can look an awful lot like patience if nobody examines it too closely. I do not yell anymore. I disappear instead, and I have spent years calling that growth.
Jesus does not let me get away with that kind of substitution. He tells a crowd bringing their offerings to the altar that the gift itself is not the point if there is unfinished business sitting behind it. "Therefore if you bring your gift to the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar, and go your way. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift" (Matthew 5:23-24, NKJV). He does not say wait until the feeling passes. He says go now, before you do the religious thing you were about to do, because the religious thing is not actually complete without the conversation you are avoiding.
Solomon names the specific tool I keep leaving in the drawer. "A soft answer turns away wrath, But a harsh word stirs up anger" (Proverbs 15:1, NKJV). I used to think my silence counted as a soft answer, since at least I was not saying anything harsh. I am starting to see that silence is not actually on the list. It is a third option Solomon never mentions, because leaving a dish on a porch and driving away is not softness, it is just a quieter version of refusing to answer at all.
Paul writes to the Romans with language that sounds almost too honest about how limited my control over this really is. "If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men" (Romans 12:18, NKJV). As much as depends on you. He is not promising I can manage her response, or guarantee the conversation goes well, or make her receive my apology the way I want it received. He is only asking for the part that depends on me, which is showing up and saying the actual words, not the part where I control how it lands.
Here is where my own reasoning has never once gotten me through a conflict like this one. I can build a reasonable case for why driving away was fine, why some relationships are better left to cool off, why words exchanged in person only risk making things worse. The case can sound sensible and still leave the exact same tightness in my chest that was there before I built it, because the tightness was never actually a reasoning problem. Paul warns the Ephesians about exactly how fast that kind of unfinished business turns into something worse if I keep managing it with my own strategy instead of dealing with it. "Be angry, and do not sin: do not let the sun go down on your wrath, nor give place to the devil" (Ephesians 4:26-27, NKJV). Four days is a lot of suns.
This is what abiding in the Spirit gives that my own avoidance never could, not a script for the conversation but an actual peace underneath it that does not wait for the outcome to be settled first. Paul tells the Romans where that peace actually originates, and it is not a decision I talk myself into. "For to be carnally minded is death, but to be spiritually minded is life and peace" (Romans 8:6, NKJV). My own mind, left to itself, keeps building better excuses for the porch. The Spirit does not negotiate with the excuses. He just keeps calling me back toward the door I drove away from. Paul tells the Colossians what it looks like when that peace actually takes charge instead of my own management of the situation. "And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to which also you were called in one body; and be thankful" (Colossians 3:15, NKJV). Rule, not merely visit. A ruling peace does not let me leave a dish on a porch and call it finished.
I walked back over yesterday and knocked, actually knocked, and stood there until she opened the door, and the conversation was shorter and far less dramatic than four days of dreading it had led me to expect. God is alive today, and He already knows exactly which door you have been leaving things on instead of knocking. He has a plan for you that includes the hard, short conversation you keep driving away from, and He has told you plainly that He will not leave you to face it alone. "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand" (Isaiah 41:10, NKJV).
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