words

Last evening I played the game Apples to Apples in which a card with a word on it is placed in the center of the table as each player lays down a card that will in some way represent that word. The person whose turn it is then chooses the card he or she likes the best. If the card has the word "cold" on it, the person may choose "icebergs" as the best answer if it is one of the choices, but could choose any card from "genetic engineering" to "Mark Twain, " if those are the cards offered by the other players. It may make perfect sense or it may not. It is open to the interpretation of the person making the choice.

What is considered fun in a game, however, is not always so much fun in the real world. A misunderstanding resulting from words not carefully chosen can lead to years of separation in families. A word intended to be funny but not taken that way by the recipient can lead to dismissal from a job. The power of life and death is in the tongue, according to a biblical proverb. Shakespeare said that the pen is mightier than the sword.

The image a person creates has as much to do with the words that person chooses to use than with his or her actions. If I tell you that I love you with anger flashing in my eyes and a tone that betrays the beauty these words are meant to bring, even if I'm doing something nice for you, the message is not one of love but of something else. If I, however, tell you that I love you as I look into your eyes and speak with sincerity, even though I do not come bearing gifts, the message has a greater chance of being believed. We trust with our hearts and our minds. We believe the words that make us feel a certain way. If we've been lied to, we develop a discernment for sorting out the dishonest words that do not carry the same weight as those told in truthfulness. It is a learned art to know if a word spoken or written is what it claims to be.

What gets confusing is when someone speaks in a sweet tone with a pleasant expression but the words are not at all kind or pleasing. The Southern expression, "Bless your heart," often fits this description. It sounds nice but just under the surface is the kind of mockery, gentle or otherwise, that I would rather do without. "I just hate that for you," is another phrase that usually means the opposite as the person saying it realizes that she has somehow avoided the fate you are now left to deal with.

Words of gossip can take on lives of their own as the excitement of something said in secret is transmitted to another willing participant. Though these messages can be somewhat interesting, I find they often fall far short of communication as a whole as I am left wondering--in what tone of voice was this message originally given?--what was the context of these words and what exact words were spoken?--who is the source?--and where do the allegiances of those involved lie? I then have to ask myself whether or not this message is believable. How do I know it is true? Who is going to prove it to me? What implications are there to believing a message told in secret? Will the repeating of that message by other "informed" individuals begin to shape a belief I did not previously have? And if so, will that new belief have any resemblance to the truth?

Can we ever really know what is in another's heart or mind? Aren't we left to depend on each other to express how it is we really feel? We have to rely on words and interpretations that have been formed through years of learning to trust and to believe. We can blame and accuse or we can give each other the benefit of the doubt. We can jump to conclusions and then share our limited and questionable findings with the next unsuspecting person. Or we can patiently seek out the person we are being told to see in a different light because of the way our minds have been shaped by the interpretations of others, and put an end to the endless speculation by merely asking, "So what do you think?"

listening

As a writer and a woman of faith, I spend a considerable amount of time taking into consideration the possible conclusions one may draw while reading my words and looking at my life. Even if there is understanding, there may not be agreement. Each one of us has a unique perspective at times requiring a certain measure of reconciliation to achieve peace with one another. This, however, does not always happen.

Without a word spoken, I can sometimes sense tension forming like ice on the edge of a pond in winter. A voice raises an octave as lips tighten. Even if a smile is attempted, the eyes betray the expression, revealing true feelings. It is then a waiting game. Will the person admit to the bad feelings and look for ways to settle the differences, or will he or she withdraw from communication altogether?

As an observer of people, I find it fascinating to watch a drama between two people who are at odds with one another unfold. To see one walk past the other without as much as a backward glance establishes the purposeful isolating action. To then witness the painful expression as eye contact is deliberately made, makes me wish I could run over yelling, "Time out" and get the two people to talk, even if they can only agree to disagree. But this doesn't happen because I don't have the ability to control people. Not even God wants to do that. He leads us and guides us. He speaks to the hearts and minds of those who will listen. To those who will not listen, he very quietly waits, as though there is a door separating that person from himself. It may be a matter of time before the person lets him in. He will wait as long as it takes.

I find it interesting when I hear that someone believes God has called her to accomplish a certain mission. I find it even more interesting when the mission God has me on is in direct opposition. Is God speaking to either of us and in this case, which one? Wouldn't it seem that the one with the most peaceful solution would be the one actually hearing from God? Maybe we all define peace differently.

So, wanting to live a life worthy of the calling of God, I wait. I wait for those who harbor anger and bitterness in their hearts to hear God's tender voice on the other side of that door. I wait for those who want to pretend there are no problems even though their eyes betray them. I wait for a new revelation of God's love that can be made known and understood. I wait for a greater opportunity to serve. I wait, knowing that there are no easy answers. All I know is that winter does not last forever. There will come a springtime and a thawing of all that is frozen. As streams of living water are eventually released to flow, my prayer is that we can step into that stream of life together, having heard his call and willing to be reconciled for the greater good.

But first we must listen. Is that knocking that I hear?



  

sharing space

Sitting next to someone at an all-day arts and crafts show can give one a glimpse through the window of a person's soul.

Yesterday a woman who seemed perfectly nice set up the two tables behind my table. I told her where I sat, the half-way point between her two tables, with the hope that she would choose to sit behind the table where she would bump into no one. She chose to bump into me instead. It promised to be a very long day.

As she sat on her wooden stool, she commented on how uncomfortable this would be by the end of the day. I agreed. I used to have a stool with a cushion that still left me with screaming back pain hours later because I could not lean back. Even though she had placed herself exactly in my way, which threatened my ability to remain charitable considerably, I decided that I needed to share with her a more adequate chair owned by a friend who would not be joining us for the show. After retrieving the chair for her, she immediately decided to change her seating location and I was relieved I had bothered to help.

No longer using her wooden stool, she allowed me to set it behind her other table across from an empty table and next to a stool left behind from a regular vendor who also would not be joining us. When a man in need of something to sit on asked if he could use her now available wooden stool, she looked at him as though he had just asked if he could take ownership of her car or maybe move into her spare bedroom. Her answer was an unequivocal NO! It was HER stool that she brought from home. Of course no one could use it but her, even though she would no longer need it until she took it home with her at the end of the day.

Having just given her someone else's chair to use, one that was HIS, I marveled at her answer. Quickly I motioned to the other stool and invited the man to take it. The woman sat comfortably in her newly found, much more comfortable chair with a back on it that was NOT HERS!

As the day wore on we interacted little as she tried to sell her wares and I mine. At one point she started up a discussion with me about my "primitive" style of art. Every time she spoke the word "primitive" she spit it out with such disdain I wondered how she could even bring herself to breathe the same air as I did. She smiled sweetly with her face but her words did not reflect that kindness.

Later when she accidently knocked another woman's glass sign off her table sending it to shatter on the concrete floor, I showed her where the brooms are kept with the hope that she could redeem herself by offering to clean up the mess she made, but I noticed it was the woman who had suffered the loss doing the cleaning. I hope the woman in question apologized. I'm not sure that she did.

About an hour before the show was supposed to end, this woman was already packed and ready to go home. I could have reported her to the coordinator since leaving early is an offense that can get a person left off the list for the next show since that sort of thing is not permitted, but I chose not to. I just said good-bye and went back to my work.

I don't think this woman set out to remind me of the parable in which the man whose debt was forgiven turned around and demanded repayment of the next man's debt, but she did. She received that which was not hers but could not extend that kindness to another in need. She could not offer blessings toward me for fear that it would somehow diminish her own creativity, and she would not take responsibility for her wrong doing in the accidental breaking of the sign. Love can cover over a multitude of sin. When we choose not to love, the emptiness of sin lingers and its sadness remains.

Though we may be tempted to think she is not a decent person, she is no different from any of us if we choose to live an unexamined life--one in which we do not consider the needs of those around us. We become her when we choose to be competitive instead of developing a heart of gratitude with generosity spilling over naturally. And in her defense, I do not know if she has lived a life in which her few possessions were taken from her or if she has suffered other abuses that have formed her character.

There is only One who rises above the pettiness which we all can succumb to. One who forgives us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. One who not only gives us a place to sit, but inspires us to be creative and empowers us to repent. When we allow the Spirit to take us over, we are freed from even the perceived ownership of our very lives. We become his hands and feet, learning to love another more than ourselves, always aware that we can choose to curse rather than to bless. There is no guarantee we will do the right thing at the right time. But we will still be loved.