From the Heart: Friction as a Force for Restoration

Friction is one of those words that actually sounds a lot like what it means.

Friction is something that we usually wince at, that typically makes our stomaches turn, that creates nervousness and an uncomfortable feeling, like things are rubbing and grinding against each another in a way that creates pain, upset, and the desire to disconnect, and we're taught that it should be avoided at all costs.

But if that's where we stop with our understanding of friction, then we're selling short its full potential, selling short all the good it can ultimately do for us.

While it's true that what friction (in any form or situation) typically elicits at first is irritation, it also holds the surprising opportunity for amazing things to occur as a result of that irritation happening.

Yes, friction creates discomfort; but the blessing of discomfort is that it causes us to become acutely aware that there is a strong force at play, something going on, something trying to communicate that it needs attention, and that things just can't stay the way they've been anymore.

Friction stirs up the waters, makes the pot boil, agitates and animates in an attempt to get things moving and changing, often bringing us to the point of nearly breaking unless we embrace it and decide to use it to get real and get honest about how we feel about things.

Then, and only then, can we begin the process of correction, and ultimately, renewal and restoration.

Friction is a gift, it takes us beyond a state of complacency, and forces us to face who we are, who we truly are, so we can correct, renew and ultimately restore our unity.

We cannot correct that which we have not admitted, nor given voice to.

We cannot fix nor renew that which has not been named.

We cannot begin to tackle our issues unless we lay all of our feelings—the good, the bad and the ugly ones—out on the table to be examined and scrutinized, in order to be understood.

And with understanding—genuine understanding when we let go of labels and cliches and begin to see individuality, nuance and uniqueness, and a real, living, breathing story—we gain empathy and a softening of the heart, and a desire to go deeper into that place before the splintering off happened, that place where there once was unity in the beginning.

Friction thrusts us into situations where the stakes become so high, and the volume so loud, that there is nothing left for us to do apart from finally collapsing into authenticity and realness out of sheer exhaustion.

Perhaps that's where things are headed for us now. And perhaps that's exactly what's needed.

It is the best state to be in for change, and for renewal and restoration to be able to take place.

There is nothing like the renewal and restoration that my husband and I experience in our union after there has been friction, in all of its irritation and discomfort, after we have exhausted ourselves into finally taking the “gloves off”, and beginning the process of truly listening and allowing ourselves to be moveable.

Then we renew the beauty and the love that is there between us, and restore things to a greater brilliance and shine than was previously there.

Friction is a gift, it takes us beyond a state of complacency, and forces us to face who we are, who we truly are, so we can correct, renew and ultimately restore our unity.

It causes us to wrestle, to twist and turn and kick and scream; but then, after all of that, once we've worn ourselves out, we can look at each other straight in the eyes, with no defenses between us, and say, “Let's stop now. You know, I just want to understand you. I want to understand why you feel the way you do. And then I'll share with you why I feel the way I do, so you can understand.”

And then maybe, just maybe, we'll find that point of commonality, that place where our desires are in harmony, just like it was before we splintered apart.

Taste what's good and pass it on.

Ingrid