Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another. ~ Proverbs 27:17 (ESV)
I can still hear the abrupt exclamation coming out of my mouth, directed at a dear friend who had offered to make the coffee for our happy little get together. It was just the two of us, so I had pulled out my single-cup coffee brewers (the kind you brew right over the cup). Since we had both opted for the same type of coffee, rather than measuring the grounds into two separate filters, she had measured a double portion into one filter, with a plan to brew both cups with the same grounds, one after the other.
"Why does it matter?" she asked.
"The first cup will be really strong and the second cup will be weak and watery! You're supposed to brew each cup separately!" I contended, certain that my way was the right way - the only way, really.
"Then I'll just take the second cup." she offered.
"OK, if you want to do it that way, go ahead." I conceded, wondering why in the world she couldn't see the clear and obvious wisdom of my admonitions, and sure that once she had tasted that second cup of coffee she would see that I was right.
The ensuing silence evaded my attention as I resumed setting the table, and once we sat down, I had all but forgotten our little exchange, so I was surprised to notice that her formerly cheerful and enthusiastic demeanor seemed to have become sober and withdrawn. Unsure of whether or not my perceptions were accurate and not wanting to read anything into her apparent mood change, I launched into the friendly chatter that so often characterizes our interaction.
"Can I talk to you about something?" my friend interrupted, tentatively.
"Of course!" I offered, my heart rate increasing a bit.
"This is really hard for me to say," she began, "but when I offer to help with something and you focus on how I'm doing it "wrong," it makes me not want to offer to help anymore." she said, tears glistening in her eyes.
Immediately, a tirade of defensive words filled my mind: explanations of how I had only meant to educate her on the proper way to make the coffee - not to hurt her feelings. After all, she wasn't doing it the right way - what else was I to do? Just let the coffee be ruined?
Quickly as those thoughts had come, though, I sensed a gentle nudge of the Spirit, reminding me of what it felt like to be on the other side of the equation, in the form of a memory that flashed across the screen of my mind. In my early teen years, when dining at the home of my next door neighbors, I had been asked to help by making the salad. It was a simple enough request, to be sure, but I can still vividly recall feeling an acute and unsettling nervousness that I would somehow find a way to mess things up by cutting the tomatoes "wrong."
"Am I supposed to cut them in chunks or slices?" I had wondered, but hadn't dared to ask, for fear that my display of ignorance would just make me feel more inept.
Gratefully, I don't recall being chastised for the way I made the salad, but I can tell you for an absolute certainty that I would have been mortified if anyone had spoken to me in that moment the way I had spoken to my friend, and the realization that I had made her feel so small, filled my heart with grief. How could I have been so blind to the effects of my posture and tone? And worse: how could I have ever been more concerned about coffee than about the heart of one of my dearest friends?
All in a moment, I was reminded what a gift she was giving me - the chance to acknowledge my offense (and, dare I admit, arrogance?) and receive the forgiveness her vulnerable gesture of honesty was offering.
"Oh, I am so sorry!" I responded, and following another nudge from the Spirit prompting me to maximize the learning opportunity before me, I ventured "Do I do that a lot?"
"Well, yeah, you kind of do."
Ouch. That was hard to hear, and yet, painful as it was in the moment, I found myself feeling strangely grateful for her honesty, realizing that if my pattern of blindness to arrogant behavior had hurt my friend, surely I'd hurt others in the same way who may not have had the courage to confront me.
"Thank you so much for telling me." I offered, with tears of my own forming in my eyes. "Will you forgive me?"
"Yes, I forgive you. Thanks for listening and apologizing."
And as quickly as the cloud of hurt and withdrawal had descended, the joy and love of a restored relationship drove it away.
* * *
It's been a few years since that loving confrontation, but it's become a defining moment of growth I don't think I will ever forget. That's not to say I believe I've "arrived" at any pinnacle of relational perfection - quite the contrary. In spite of what I learned that day, there have still been occasions when blindness to my own pride has hurt those I love - and I'm certain there will be many more. But thanks to the raw honesty of true friends, I can move through life with confidence and hope, trusting that when the ugly face of pride manifests itself, I have allies who will hold up a mirror so I can see myself as I really am. What a blessing to have courageous friends who, rather than withdrawing and leaving me to wonder what happened, will instead risk their own hearts in effort to help me become more of the person I was created to be.
And, by the grace of God, I purpose to be that same kind of friend to others.
* * *
Oh, and by the way, in case you wondered, the coffee turned out just fine.
