Your words have power

One morning this past January, I woke up with the absolute conviction of the Holy Spirit that I was going about something in the wrong way. 

The details were fuzzy to me even then - had I had a dream? A vision? Had I been unconsciously mulling over something in my sleepy pre-waking state and been struck by an unlikely moment of clarity? Whatever the circumstances leading up to the revelation, I hugged it to myself in the early morning light of my teenage bedroom: remember, your words have power. As I turned in my bed, I felt the phrase's weight settle on me as a well-needed reminder for both the situation at hand and many to come. Because, truly, I had forgotten - my words have power. 

I had spent much of December and January nursing ugly, barely-concealed anger towards an institution and a key person within it. It had started out as a slow burn, but as I stoked the flames of my unrighteous indignation with my stubbornness and conversations with people who only saw things my way, my anger grew hotter. I drafted and re-drafted long emails in my mind, each version becoming more incisive and caustic. With each imaginary draft, I thought I was getting one step closer to 'speaking truth to power', when in reality I was only feeding a flame that, continually stoked, would have consumed me.  

Mercifully, for both myself and the would-be recipient of my invective, God sent rain with this January morning revelation. 

Emerging, bleary-eyed, from the smoke of all that anger, I was able to see that the person whom I had regarded with all that disdain was just that: a person. They were still made in the image of God, still absolutely deserving of respect and just trying their best to lead their institution through some pretty difficult circumstances. 

When an opportunity unexpectedly came up in the next few months to have a conversation with said person, knees tucked awkwardly against an outdoor cafe table, I was able to engage calmly and without vitriol. Although it was still a difficult conversation to have, I left knowing that I had spoken my mind but done so as graciously as I knew how. 

Looking back on the situation, what strikes me the most is how long I could go without realising that my words have power. I had been wandering around for years, throwing words towards people with abandon, never stopping to look back at the damage or beauty they might have wrought. 

Words can inflict damage or they can cultivate beauty and I was so wrapped up in my own small view of myself that that I hadn't stopped to consider either outcome. In the last month, two friends have messaged me to tell me how much small notecards I had written had meant to them. As I read both messages, I kept thinking - my words meant that much to you? Those frail things? 

My words feel weak. On my best days they graze the meaning I am grasping for and on my worst, they aren't even in the same ballpark. Nevertheless, these wobbly words of mine have power, and I want to wield that well. Here's to making a start.