Wounds From a Friend

Do you love me enough to wound me?

To step out of your comfort zone and stir up the waters, for the sake of my soul?

My whole life, I’ve tried to keep the peace. Partly because I want you to like me, but also because I don’t want to make things weird.

But as I get older, the different parts of my life give me plenty of opportunities to make unwise choices.

Think about it.

I oversee work, marriage, parenting—not to mention finances, fitness, and my spiritual life. Add to that monitoring the state of my heart, staying engaged at church, and dealing with whatever curveballs life throws at me, and my hands are more than full.

Just reading that list gives me anxiety.

Managing all of it is a lot. It would make sense if I missed a few yellow flags or made some poor choices while juggling so much. No one’s perfect. Sometimes you miss a warning sign that could have saved you from a major mistake.

I was in college when I received my first real wound from a friend. I’ve always been one of the funniest guys in the room, but when I was younger, that humor often came at someone else’s expense. I’m observant, quick-witted, and rarely missed a chance to roast someone. Bad haircut? Fair game. Awkward moment with a girl? I’m bringing it up at dinner.

One night, a friend decided to turn the tables. He started teasing me about my outfit, and after a few jabs, I snapped. I shot back with something sharp, letting him know I didn’t appreciate it. That’s when he got serious. In front of everyone, he said, “You’re great at dishing it out, Garz, but the second someone gives it back, you get pissed. You think we like that? If you’re gonna give it, you gotta take it.”

Point taken.

That was over twenty years ago, and I still think about that moment. His method wasn’t gentle, but it landed, and it helped shape me into a better man.

There have been others since. Men who called out my controlling tendencies with my wife and kids. My tendency to drink too much. My issues with authority. Their words stung, but they helped me grow.

It’s hard to tell a friend the truth he doesn’t want to hear. Harder still to do it kindly, without sugarcoating the issue.

If your friend needs surgery, you can use a dull knife. It’ll get the job done, but it’ll be messy and painful. Better to use a sharp scalpel. Be a surgeon, not a butcher.

Bringing up a hard truth kindly; that’s your job as a brother. Receiving it with humility and doing something about it… that’s your job as a man. Assume the best in your friend’s intentions. If he’s summoning the courage to have a tough conversation, it’s probably because he loves you.

In my book, receiving and responding to feedback in a Godly way is one of the clearest signs of maturity.

And I’ve found that when these conversations happen, both people walk away with deeper affection. It may sting. It may get messy. But the wound? The wound is a gift.

A gift that rescues you from foolishness.
That breaks generational sin.
That restores marriages.
That shapes you into the husband, father, and leader you want to be.

As much as it pains me to say it, I want to be surrounded by men who will wound me.

Men who love me enough to risk our friendship to say what needs to be said. Who brave the discomfort and awkwardness to help me become the man I say I want to be.

I may not like your rebuke. I might not respond well. But I want it.

I need it.

Because the alternative won’t help me become more like Jesus.

And the alternative might just lead to my demise.