29 September 2015
Boadilla del Camino
Bitter Words
Today had a brutal start only to be followed by the level
and easy[RW1]
Mesata, the high plateau. The approach
to the hill was intimidating and one that I approached with both gratitude and
intimidation. I was grateful that this
was the only steep breath stealer for the day and I’d have it done with right
away. The very sight of how steep and how long the approach was intimidated. I
was rewarded with a stunning view of the countryside below with the sunrise
just breaking over the hills. It was so
beautiful.
I walked along and
reconnected with a lady and later her friend from Brazil who are work
companions. They work as independent
counselors and staff development resources for companies and for individuals
seeking outside advice. In a matters of
a few steps we discovered the commonalities of our work worlds. We were counselors sharing the treasures of
our education’s insights and swapping stories of how counseling theories and
practices helped us to help others. It
was all shop talk.
More of the discussion centered around the dysfunction that
paralyzes people due to unforgiveness.
It was a stimulating conversation because we felt the pain and dilemma
in some many people we wanted to help move on with life, but were
self-imprisoned by their own unwillingness or inability to forgive an offense.
It is a common human tendency to hold on to grudges, hurts, and offenses. True?
During a long silence of just one foot in front of the
other, I came to recall my own struggles with withholding forgiveness. For
today’s walk it was over some events in my life when I was the offender. The
memories brought a strong sense of regret for my part in the offense. This was
most painfully true when I recalled some of the comments I’ve made that bring a
great deal of embarrassment and regret. Here is a short anecdote that came
alive from a childhood memory that illustrates my reflection today. Stay with
me while I digress a bit.
I was a little guy playing in a vacant lot near our home on a
spring day. Herds of kids ran and played. I recall this one little girl
stopping me and said that they were picking dandelions, would I like to join
them. I did and before long we had a mitt full of the butter-yellow beauties. Then
she offered one of the “Dare ya” offers that soon escalated into one of those “Double
dog dare ya” challenges. It was a powerful challenge for a weak mind. She said
straight faced, “I Double dog dare ya you won’t eat a dandelion.”
I stared at the tender beauties and thought, what could be
the harm, after all, they look pretty. I
popped one in my mouth and started chewing it like Bazzoka bubble gum. I’m not sure which was more bitter, it’s
taste or that little girl’s delighted smurk. I spat the weed out and ran home for
a Colgate scrub. The taste of that moment is still vivid in my memory nearly 60
years later. I learned what a bitter taste and aftertaste dandelion juice is.
Today while walking and talking about the topic of untying
the knot of unforgiveness, I came to recall, in particular, bitter words I have
spoken to others. There were a few vivid
memories of words and comments I remember making that must have really hurt the
person to whom I directed them. I could
try to soften the effects by salving my conscience with thoughts like, “But I
was overworked that day” or “I was angry because. . .” or “They had it coming
because of the attitude they were giving.” This and many other “good excuses”
tried to soften truth that what I said was wrong[RW2] ,
they were hurtful words, they were fiercely judgmental and sometimes spoken
from an overinflated ego. Recalling the
words in those incidents was like tasting that dandelion again. They were and are bitter words.
Perhaps you may have an incident in your past that you would
rather eat your words than to have uttered them. Worse yet, the words may have been spoken to
your spouse, one of your children, a sibling, or close friend. Far more
painful, maybe the bitter words were spoken to one of your parents. I have a
few really dumb comments I recall having spoken to my mom that, as an adult,
have such a bitter aftertaste and I so wish I had the second chance to eat,
even if as bitter as a dandelion.
We recall the childhood poem, “Sticks and stones can break
my bones,” True. But the second verse should read, “But names, and words, CAN
REALLY hurt me.” Words and name calling resurface in adult memories many years
later. I have heard many share their
heartache from something as simple, yet powerful, as words spoken even decades
ago.
In James 3 he writes, “We can tame every kind of beast, but
no human can tame the human tongue. It is restless and evil, full of deadly
poison. With it we bless the Father in heaven and curse humans who are made in
the likeness of God.”
I took particular notice of this challenge to my spiritual
focus today. How disciplined is my
tongue? Are there some bitter words for which I need to seek that person’s
forgiveness? How humbling and loving
that effort would be?! Going back to a person and saying, “I have a
recollection of a stupid comment I made to you, and as I thought of it, I’ve
come to deeply regret it. I’d like to ask your forgiveness for it.”
I have a few on my list of unfinished reconciling I need to
make right. Will it be difficult? Uncomfortable? Humbling? Create some anxiety?
Yes, and yes, and yes, and yes. Is it a behavior of one trying to grow in
holiness. Oh yes. Will the effort please
God? Amen, amen. Is there opportunity to bring healing? More than we could ever
imagine. Bitter names, and words, do
hurt and for many recalling them brings a deep sting of heartache.
We can be agents of healing injured life memories. We start
by recalling some of those thoughtless comments, go in humility to the one we’ve
offended, and say the words, “Please forgive me.” We must actually say the
words. For those very words, spoken
genuinely and contritely, act like Listerine for the bitter words. This sets us
free. The offended has the freedom to choose, but that’s their decision. We
will have opened the door to reconciling.
Therein lies my “Double dog dare” for us: Watching our
language more carefully and refreshing some of the foul odor of past comments.
“May our good Lord keep his arm around my shoulder and his
hand over my mouth.”
In His love,
Deacon Willie, DW
No comments:
Post a Comment