I have plenty of experience with relational conflict. If the options tend to be flight or fight, I’ve jumped into the ring almost every time. I’ve Rumbled in the Jungle, experienced the Thrilla in Manilla. I’ve thrown verbal uppercuts, and taken them. But in a premarital season, Christ’s grace has been training me to love my friends, family, and fiancé with the kindness and restraint that God has shown me.

Your greatest ally in life now stands opposite you as (what feels like) an enemy. Weapons are drawn. Molten words are exchanged. The contest begins.

Whether you land a blow or receive one, you sustain damage. The one-fleshness makes every foul word a boomerang. Grace is tossed aside for reciprocation — an eye for an eye, as it were. She raises her voice; you raise yours. She jabs beneath the belt; you return her in kind. You each want to stop fighting — but rarely in the same moment. You put your arms down for a second only to get sucker punched. Things escalate.

In bad seasons, some couples may sleep in their designated corners of the bed. The alarm sounds the bell, and they’re back at it again. Sadly, children often sit ringside for the pay-per-view worthy fights.

In marital and romantic love, we wound and are wounded. Whoever penned the lyrics, Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me, must not have known either.

An Assassin

The tongue can be a great assassin. In a terrifying excursus on this weapon, James calls it:

• a fire, lit by hell, that sets our lives ablaze (James 3:5–6),
• a stain marring the entire person (James 3:6),
• a world of unrighteousness (James 3:6),
• a restless evil full of deadly poison (James 3:8),
• an untamable creature (James 3:8),
• a mercenary that sometimes works for Christ and sometimes for Satan (James 3:9–12).

We were — and sadly still can be — a people of unclean lips. With perverse language, we too often lash out at our loved ones and break their spirits (Proverbs 15:4).

As we stand toe-to-toe and slug it out (old-school boxing style), one word can make all the difference in our conflicts with loved ones: grace.

To Grace or Not to Grace

As Christians, we can hardly go a day without saying the word.

Our most familiar hymn declares how amazing it is (and for good reason). Although the Old Testament only contains several sightings of the word, the New Testament explodes with it. God’s grace fills Christ (John 1:14), appears in his person and work (Titus 2:11–14), brands the gospel (Acts 20:24), overwhelms sin (Romans 5:20), founds God’s promises to us (Romans 4:16), transforms weakness into strength (2 Corinthians 12:9), defines God’s throne (Hebrews 4:16), and characterizes God’s Spirit (Hebrews 10:29). God is the God of all grace (1 Peter 5:10).

And God’s grace visits the humble (James 4:6), saves them (Acts 15:11; Romans 3:24; Ephesians 2:5), upholds them (Romans 5:2), chooses them (Romans 11:5), greets them (Romans 1:7; 1 Corinthians 1:3; 2 Corinthians 1:2), builds them up (Acts 20:32), strengthens them (2 Timothy 2:1), trains them in godliness (Titus 2:11–12), gifts them (1 Peter 4:10), and, as it comes to us through Jesus Christ, provokes them to an eternity of praise (Ephesians 2:7).

Grace is the scandalous, active, undeserved favor of God. The Christian life swims within the endless shores of his grace.

But when we fight with loved ones, we forget. And when we forget that God’s grace meets us moment by moment with unmerited kindness, we fail to extend this grace to others.

Inevitably, the moment comes in every bout when we’re faced with a question: To grace or not to grace? Do we lay down our gloves or hit back? In times when I’ve refused to extend grace, I’ve noticed that one of three lies usually prevailed.

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