I relish the view from our front porch: the sun streaming through the clouds; the birds flying from branch to branch. A gentle breeze completes the paradise. Until I open my book.
That same gentle breeze flips pages faster than I ever think possible--ripping some completely away. The wind is just a force. I know it doesn't intentionally set out to destroy my book, yet it does. Impersonal. Unintentional. At times blessing--at times destroying. How often am I like the wind?
I wonder how often words I utter--words seemingly gentle--destroy when brushing by my children or my spouse. Though I never intend to do so. How often I have wandered into a room and spoken words that ripped chunks from a heart? Ripped because, like the wind with my book, I didn't know their vulnerabilities. My disappointed response to a sales clerk that embarrasses daughter. My inquiry regarding a friend's party that reminds son that he wasn't invited. My silly joke that hits too close to husband's fear.
I'm learning the power of my words. Impersonal words can destroy--even seemingly gentle words that, in other contexts, refresh. I need to know the people I speak to--generally and as they unfold daily--so that I can pattern my words to their situation. So the words I speak complete the paradise without ripping anything away.
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