I don’t even remember what the fight with my teenage daughter Shannon was about.

I do remember it was a painful, hurtful one, at the worst possible time. My husband was away.  My other daughter, Elizabeth, was away. I had hoped that Shannon and I could have some special one-on-one time together. Instead, we had a big awful fight.

I remember how I felt as I dropped her off at her friend’s house for the evening: Angry. Angry at her and at myself. Frustrated. Sad that a potentially really special evening had been ruined.

I called a friend of mine to vent and she made a suggestion that changed everything. She suggested that when Shannon came home, I have a special moment prepared. To receive her with love.

So I did. I got out Aunt Barbara’s teapot, with its gleaming copper hood, that Aunt Barbara had used every time I came to visit them, and that Uncle Barton had given to me after she died. I laid out my best china with little, delectable treats. Cheese on crackers. Celery with peanut butter and raisins. And, of course, sweets… including the yogurt-covered raisins and yogurt covered almonds I loved. Flowered cloth napkins and special placemats. I set it all up on the table in the dining room, the room that we only used for special occasions, in a place she would see as she walked through the front door.

I remember the look on Shannon’s face as she came into the house:  angry, resentful… defensive. And I remember how her face lit up when she saw the teapot, my best china, and the table all laid out so beautifully.

Instead of having another fight, Shannon and I sat down and had tea together. We munched on those special treats, savored the warmth of the hot tea, the delicate feel of the bone china cups. And we talked. Not about the fight. But about other things. A special time created. A special memory made.

There is a time for working through disagreements, of course. But there is also a time for changing the channel. For choosing the way of love instead of the way of fear and defensiveness.

For enjoying a special moment together, rather than rehashing an old fight.

I still, so often, get defensive and afraid in interpersonal relationships. I project my insecurity into what other people say, or don’t say, or how they look at me.

I forget what I am called to do: to live a fearless life. To remember how much I am loved by God and by others.  To choose in my relationships, not the way of fear, but the way of love.