We also know the silence these blunders create: The silence of utter shock or pure shame. During these momentary conversational freezes, everyone scrambles for an appropriate response. Laughter? Denial? An apology? Instant flight? The responses we choose determine whether a situation becomes humorous or horrible, despicable or a delight.
Other awkward pauses exist, too. We struggle to find common ground with a stranger. We discuss a difficult diagnosis with a friend. We apologize for a years-old offense. At these times, pauses populate our conversations like puddles on a tree-lined trail. In order to proceed, we must wade right through, hazard the long jump across, or venture off the path to stay dry. Both situations present us with a selection of uncomfortable options. But how do we know which to choose?
During this past year, I've considered this question countless times. No, I haven't put my foot in my mouth every time I've gone out (at least I hope not), but I've become acutely aware of an extended "awkward pause" within my own life. A year ago, my husband and I encountered a colossal marital challenge. It involved enabling, deceit, and an element of unwanted surprise. It became public overnight, leaving us reeling and threatening to unravel the 17-year-old fabric of our knit-together lives. So we hit "Pause" in an effort to survive.
We disbanded the small group that met in our home. We pared down our outside commitments. We conserved only the closest of friends. And we hunkered down with our kids. It took every ounce of our energy to discuss our situation with each other and with them, but in the roaring silence following the big reveal, we had only one choice: Step right in.
A few people called. Our small group prayed, then slowly drifted away. Most people pretended everything was just fine. In reality, though, our hearts were broken, our lives turned on end, and everyone around us knew why. The year of silence - this long, awkward pause - that ensued has been one of the most difficult seasons of our lives. But by God's grace, we're still here, walking this path, side by side. We're not done with the hard work of healing, but from where we stand, knee-deep in this muddy mess, we've made a few observations.
1. Awkward pauses can connect us with reality.
God knew about the ugliness in our hearts long before we did. He saw our awkward pause before time began, and He planned to use it for our good. During the space that this silence has created, He has deepened our understanding of His sovereignty. He has revolutionized our experience of His grace. His Gospel, His love, and Himself - the ultimate realities worth embracing - shine brighter for us than they once did. Our awkward pause forced us to listen - and we've fallen deeper in love with the One whom we heard when we did..
2. Awkward pauses can clarify our values.
With little other distractions, my husband and I have grown more rooted in our core beliefs. We have weeded out non-essential pursuits, pruning our priorities until we feel unified and grounded in a much deeper way. Will this clarity remain when the busyness sets in? I don't know. But I feel confident that our new foundation will provide a baseline to which we can return if we grow confused. And we owe all this clarity to our year of silence.
3, Awkward pauses can deepen our relationships.
Sharing a socially-awkward moment with a friend forges a new kind of connection. Walking through life-silences does the same. Our children, our true friends, and our closest family now feel like members of an elite tribe. They've stepped into our deepest puddle with us. They've experienced the cold and the grime. We know each other on a deeper level, and it's all because of this extended and difficult time.
4. Awkward pauses can bring us life.
Jesus once asked, "What good is it for a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?" (Mark 4) We may feel poised and socially stable. We may keep our marriage intact (on the surface), and our family in the latest styles. We may even shell out the dough to maintain the illusion of perpetually sun-kissed hair. But if these things keep us from an honest assessment of our poverty before Christ, they are our enemies. They are sin. Pride constantly seeks to replace God's truth with lies. I am sufficient. I am independent. I am wise. The humbling situation that caused our awkward pause helped us put these old, ugly selves to death. It brought us full, rich life in Christ. Has it been humbling? Yes? But it's the sweetest kind of humbling I've ever known, a humbling I wouldn't trade it for any polished public image, no matter how bright.
In my college newspaper, I ran a features column entitled "Puddlestompings." Here I curated articles that upheld one premise: Life should be approached with the abandon of a child playing in the rain. I have matured since then. Experience now tells me that every puddle wasn't meant for mindless stomping. But on the trail of my life, I know this. No puddle exists without God's permission. If it lies in my path, I will cross it - carefully, mindfully, and with the joy that comes from walking by faith, not by sight. I accept this path God provides, the puddles and the clear patches alike. Even if everyone else abandons me, He never will. And that transforms every pause, every puddle, into a thing filled with beauty and with light.
