What Is The Impact of Your Words?

Our words are so incredibly powerful; the words we speak to others and the words we speak to ourselves.

Our words can delight the heart or devastate the mind.

They can be instruments of peace and hope or chaos and destruction.

We can wield them as weapons or whisper them like salve over deep wounds.

We all know the power of our words, and yet we speak them with such carelessness, such blatant disregard for the impact they will make upon landing.

There is an ancient biblical proverb that says, "Death and life are in the power of the tongue . . . "

The Power of Death and Life

I had a friend of mine who's father went into surgery for a minor hernia repair.  No big deal, even given his advanced number of years.  They were assured it was a very simple procedure; he'd be in and out before they knew it.

After some time, two doctors came out (they never deliver bad news alone), each removing their surgical caps, almost in unison.  She and the rest of her family stood up, surprised and each sensing the impending doom that had sucked the oxygen out of the room.

Due to a slight error in the way some medication was administered, a medication designed to regulate his heart rate during surgery, her father had suffered a heart attack and they could not revive him. He died on the table.

Imagine the shock of that.  A simple medication, designed to give life, but instead delivered a deadly blow.


Thus is the impact of our words.


Though they have the power to give life, if spoken carelessly, they can bring death and destruction.

Choosing My Words

I have thought so much about my words lately; about the ones I speak, and the ones that remain thoughts in my head, threatening to spill out over those I love . . .


. . . and those I struggle to love.


God gave each of us the ability to speak. He also gave us the power to give life, and hope, and encouragement with our words or to use them to bring devastation and destruction.



All that to say, we have the power of death and life on the tip of our tongue. Today, for one whole day, speak each word as a gift and measure the life that it brings to your soul.

Trusting Requires I Lose Control

When I was a young woman, 20 to be exact, I fell in love with the Church.  I'm not saying I fell in love with Jesus, (in truth, and sadly, that didn't come until much later), but I did fall in love with the Church.  Having come from a somewhat difficult childhood that was often chaotic and stressful, I found comfort in the rules and structure of church.

The Church offered me boundaries and a feeling of control that my heart and mind craved.  It taught me how to read my bible in a structured way, how to pray in a structured way, even how to worship with rules and decorum.

Of course, as I type these words, I know that what the church taught me in my early days of Christianity was to love religion, but I know that the Holy Spirit found me there, knee deep in my religion, and rescued me, and for that, I am grateful.

In the last few years, I have come to understand how desperately I hold onto control, and the root of that is because  I felt so out of control as a child.  I find great comfort in knowing what is ahead. I'm a planner.  My lists have lists.  I have contingency plans.  I mean, why take the road less traveled? That's not a plan! And why plan for tomorrow when you can make a 5 year plan or a 10 year plan?  I'm not saying there is anything wrong with planning, to a certain extent.  It's when trusting your ability to plan overrides your trust in Jesus that there's a problem.  And that's where my problem is.

Sunday, at church, we sang a song that contained the phrase "trust without borders."

I felt like the words became the only words on the screen, an indictment to my secret character flaw, and the weight of that indictment sucked the oxygen out of the room.

From there, the pastor went on to tell a story of Mother Theresa and how when once asked to pray for clarity for someone, she refused, stating that praying for clarity was really just a way of wanting the security (and control) of a mapped out plan.  She stated (I'm paraphrasing) "Clarity doesn't require trust.   Instead, I'll pray for you to trust without boundaries."

And there it was again.  Trust without borders.  Trust without boundaries.  Trust without conditions. Trust without a damned plan.

It's not that I haven't been painfully aware of my need to control things, it's that I've been ignorant of the fact that my need for control has often replaced my trust in Jesus.

I read this excerpt from The Hobbit the other day on a friend's facebook wall and knew it was a challenge for me personally.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

So where does a girl go to learn how to trust without borders?  I'll let you know when I discover it.  But for now, I'll step out on the path, pursuing it with eager feet, until it joins some larger way, where many paths and errands meet.

All that to say, it's a scary place for a control freak, asking for the ability to trust without borders, for lessons of trust must inevitably come with opportunities to have to.

I Feel the Rush

I feel the Spirit of God moving in me today, a feeling that is at once  both exhilarating and terrifying.

It's a sense of anticipation and foreboding, which of course makes no sense whatsoever to my rational mind.

The closest thing I can relate it to is giving birth.  One minute the thrill of bringing a life into this world overwhelms you and just as quickly you are hit by the overwhelming realization of what it takes to bring a life into this world.


Knowing that God speaks to me, at all, is incredibly humbling. But knowing that He moves through me, searching me, going beyond the surface things the world can see, into the deepest part of me, that thought is overwhelming.

I trust the Holy Spirit. I trust the way He speaks to me. I trust what He uncovers in me and encourages me to tackle.  I trust His affection for me. He has proven himself to me over and over.

"And it is the Spirit who bears witness, because the Spirit is truth."- I John 5:6

All that to say, I trust the Spirit of God because what He speaks is truth, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, where truth is, there is freedom. I feel the rush of His Spirit today, speaking truths I need to hear. Sweet truth, liberating truth, His truth.

I wonder, what truth is He speaking to you today?

The Court of Public Opinion

The court of public opinion is a terrible, terrible court. The judge is jaded, the jury predisposed to judge the case based on emotion and not facts, and the attorneys for both sides are mute.

That's why years and years and years ago, it was established that justice would be much better served if 12 impartial people heard the facts of a trial and determined the outcome.

Is the American system of justice perfect? Absolutely not.

Innocent people go to jail.

Guilty people are set free.

It happens every single day.

And though I never venture out into these political waters, I thought that for today, I would weigh in.

Picture for just a moment, that Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman were both white, or both black, or black and Asian, or Asian and Asian (you get the point).  Picture for the moment that the two parties to this case were NOT black and white.

The court of public opinion would be a mute court; I feel certain of it.

I feel certain of it because I think this case has way more to say about the vast racial divide that still exists in our country than it does about blind justice or a failed judicial system.

I don't know if George Zimmerman was innocent or guilty of murder. I didn't hear the case, other than the pieces I was fed through the media. He was guilty of a lot of things that ultimately ended in the death of young man.  And that is tragic. And tragically wrong.  But even if Trayvon Martin was 100% to blame (and I'm not saying he was), his death would be no less tragic, and no less wrong, no less devastating to those who loved him.

All that to say, my heart is deeply saddened by all that this case has revealed about us.  Not us as a nation, us as human beings.

Day 70: What Really Matters

It's quiet in this little space I have carved out to be my home office.  Quiet is a rare commodity in our home these days.

I have one little twin off at Preschool, and her sister is in her room, finally sleeping after an excruciating 5 days of mouth pain.           


Babies should not have to endure that kind of pain, especially babies who have already endured so much.  (I guess technically  she's not a baby; she's a great big 4 year old, but she's our baby.)

Funny, just writing that out.  She's our baby.  Ours.

Some days, when I'm bogged down in the tornado of chaos that threatens to overtake my mind, I am reminded of the storm we lived in for over two years, and the beauty on the other side of that storm.

The adoption process is incredibly, incredibly hard.  And while our process was probably atypical in its origins, I doubt that the overall process was that different from most.

There were days when we lived with the threat that at any day their birth mom could come and take them away from us.  There were days when we were overwhelmed with paperwork and legal ease and court proceedings gone wrong. 

There were days when we wondered if we were doing the right thing, were the right parents, were too old, too set in our ways.  Would we have enough energy, enough time, enough love?

There were many long days and nights and weeks and months of trying to solve the psychological distress of our girls.

So many unanswered questions.  Truth is, there are still so many unanswered questions.

But the one thing that mattered all along . . . the one thing that matters today . . .

We were called to be their parents.  God created us for them.  Our hearts and lives are so deeply knit together that you would never know they were not born into our family. They are indeed, ours, in every conceivable way. 

It's easy to think these things when it's quiet.  And easy to forget them when life gets crazy. 

All that to say, a little quiet is good for the soul.  It helps you remember what's important.  It helps you remember what matters.  And what doesn't.

Photograph Courtesy of Chip Gillespie Photography
www.chipgillespie.com

Day 46: The Backstory

I'm still kind of on my "facebook isn't reality" kick.  I was thinking about it again last night because Mike and I were talking about a story I posted on my wall.  He commented that he didn't remember the story being quite so funny in real life.  And he was right.  It wasn't funny at all.

The written word is an incredibly powerful tool.  It affords us the opportunity to tell the story we want to tell, sometimes completely altering the reality of the situation.  And facebook is an incredible place to practice this art.  For example, here is a retelling of a story that I recently posted on facebook.

Me: (Sitting at restaurant as fajitas are served on skillet) "Girls, do not touch this plate, it will burn your skin off."
Shannay: (appropriately in aww and horror of something that could burn your skin off) "It will burn my skin off?"
Me: (very serious) "Yes, it will."

Long period of appropriate silence as the girls stare at and think about something that would burn your skin off.

Shannay: "Mama?"
Me: "Yes, baby?"
Shannay: "What's skin?"

Fail.

Even as I reread this retelling I am laughing.  Everyone who commented on facebook commented about how funny it was.  The way that I put the story together in writing, my word choice, the emotion I injected, the dramatic pause in just the right places all worked together to make this a very funny story.

The reality of this story wasn't actually funny.  As our food was served, we were  quite frustrated that the waitress placed the cold plates of condiments in front of Mike and me, but chose to place the burning hot skillet of fajitas in front of our two 3 year olds.  What insued was a flurry of movement by Mike and I to keep the girls from burning themselves.  In the midst of this flurry of movement was a very agitated me saying in a very agitated tone, "Girls, do NOT touch this plate.  It will burn your skin off!'

I'm certain I frightened them, but not nearly enough to keep them from reaching out at least once, causing Mike and I to flip out!  In the midst of the rearranging of the food, Mike said, "Really Carol?  It will burn their skin off?  Did you have to be that dramatic?  You had to go there huh?  You couldn't just say it would burn them?"

As Mike and I were having our, er . . . . "intense fellowship" over my word choice, the girls were staring at the steaming plate of fajitas.  As I continued to discuss why I chose to say "burn your skin off" instead of just saying "burn you" Shannay said,

"Excuse me, Mama . . . ."  "Excuse me, Mama . . ."  "Excuse me, Mama . . ."

Finally I stopped arguing with Mike and said, "Yes, baby?"  and she said, "What's skin?"

Mike and I both looked at each other.  Mike's look totally said, "See.  You didn't need to say skin. She doesn't even know what skin is!"  And my look said, "See, you don't need to get all upset because I said skin because she doesn't even know what skin is!"

Now, the way I put the story together in the first place (on facebook) is a completely accurate retelling of the story.  I did not rearrange the details in any way.  But I left out the backstory.  And the backstory is important to the truth.

And that's my point.  Regardless of what is written on facebook, most of us are not privileged to the backstory.  So we form "truths" based on what we read, but in reality the truth could look very different.

All that to say, facebook is a great thing.  It has so many incredible uses.  It has the power to do such good.  But it also has the power to do harm.  And that's a lot of power.  So we must be wise, not only in what we write, but in what we read and in what we believe about what we read.

Real Friends Tell the Truth

It is rare in life that people have real friends. A true friend. Someone who loves you totally unconditionally (I think that is bad grammar.) True friends don't care if you are fat or skinny, but they do care if you are healthy. They don't care if you are rich or poor, but they do care if you are greedy or starving. Superficial things don't matter to them at all. They aren't impressed by your vocation, at least not in a way that influences their decision to be your friend or not. True friends stay your friend, even when you move away. Real true friends see past all the masks you wear for the world and they look right into the core of the real you. And real friends tell you the truth.

Friends see you naked and don't go screaming out the front door, or the back door, or out the window, or running down the street in horror.

Friends don't tell your secrets. Friends know your secret hurts that are buried way down deep inside. They know them because they care enough about you to get past the surface.

Friends aren't afraid to disagree with you. Friends challenge you to think beyond yourself, regardless of how dire or hopeless your circumstances seem. Friends don't let you give up, but they do let you know when it is time to quit.

Friends don't get jealous of the good things that happen for you, like new cars or tummy tucks. They celebrate with you, enjoying the good things right alongside you.

Friends don't make excuses for you and say things like, "You're not fat. You just had a baby." :)
No, they say, "Go ahead eat that donut. Your butt can't get much bigger!"

Sometimes it is amazing to me the number of people in my life that I call friend. I don't see them all daily, or weekly, or even monthly. Some of them I haven't seen in years. Some of them I rarely talk to. But there is still that deep, unexplainable connection. My real friends won't be disappointed that I didn't mention them by name, because that is how real friends are.

All that to say, I am pretty thankful for my friends. My real friends.