Poison or fruit......

COME HERE…..

Words:  simple letters of the alphabet purposefully strung together to communicate.  Add to the structures punctuation marks, pauses, and there is a weapon of mass destruction waiting to launch. 

One simple word spoken has the power to call out life.

One simple word,  has the power to call out death.

Then there is tone.

Tone colors the word with personality.  A simple word answered when asked, “How are you today?” can reveal so much in the delivery.  

“Good,” is usually the one word response.  

Oh, how many different ways can we say “Good?”  

Put a feeling and tone behind that spoken word, and let the interpretations ensue.  

This makes the spoken language both beautiful and hideous. 

Another example…..

“Come here,” flavored with anger, impatience, or even sarcasm births shame, fear, even defensiveness.  I mean, If I hear the words “come here..(you are going to get a spankin’) that is not exactly the same “come here” seasoned with tenderness as when a love takes you by the hand pulling you in close for an embrace.  The warmth of that “come here” draws me in.  Beckons intimacy, acceptance, and life.  Tone travels through the filter of the listener’s soul and assembles emotion.    How desperately she wanted to hear the tender, gentle tones.  

In this moment, reflection on the words spoken over her life….

Proverbs~ "Words satisfy the mind as much as fruit does the stomach; good talk is as gratifying as a good harvest.  Words kill, words give life; they're either poison or fruit- you choose"

Most recently…  the “why do you want to do THAT????” disapproval.  Or the, “why do you let your kids listen to that awful music…. "Your sister ......" (on on and on goes the comparison)  she would never understand the reason for the daggers all these years.  Never.  When all she needed was a kindess  a tenderness.  A gaze.  A loving touch… not a stinging slap across the mouth.  All she wanted  was a “come here”  just a “come here”  instead, with every intentional pushing of the metaphorical button, the chasm between “come here,” and “I don’t know you” deepened.  Deeper and deeper still….. that her dream of “come here” faded into a whispy fog, then dissipated into thin air.

Poison or Fruit.... 

Words so powerful that they seeded, rooted, and birthed into a life of their own.  Those damaging words so long ago spoken, had now transplanted themselves into her own voice.  The murderous words spoken over her were in the familiar voices of herself.  The taunting voices that spoke ill, death and condemnation … were now her own.  She knew it was time to do that work….. Because these spoken words she had entertained,  would slowly destroy her and if that wouldn’t destroy her, the  “Come here” desires unmet from a failed marriage would  destroy. 

One sylabell at a time they would kill. ....slowly, systematically, and achingly drawn out…. A, B, C, D, E, F…BAM, you die!  NOT right away,  but it may as well be right away.  

Because when your soul diseases, you stop living.  

Poison or fruit...

Words.  In This moment she wished that there were no spoken words.  

"Why do we need  to speak so much to communicate?"  

Words so often interfere!  Oh how lovely and beautiful it would be to simply convey tone, emotion, in silence, in a gaze, in a touch.  

"Yes, a world of no verbal pratter back and forth is my heaven,"  she mused. 

 Verbalizing everything over takes the senses.  When we walk outside and take note of the climate, we say, “Wow, it’s a beautiful day!”  The empty vocal gutturals of “It’s a beautiful day,”  are spoken and we move on to our next thought, chore, errand.   

"What does that even mean?" she pondered.

She wanted to stop and bask in the beauty of the day, if even for a brief moment.  Her senses awakened at the beauty, and she marveled in the yellow sunbeam warmth on her skin.  The branches were bare, and the air crisp, but the yellow ignited warmth and gratitude in her heart.  In that moment of basking in the beauty, the smell of fireplaces burning all around stimulated peaceful memories of  days gone by when she would practically sit in the fireplace!  Such golden precious memories of that fireplace hearth, and her treasured spot beside it.  

And what did she hear?  The wind.  Singing her song of welcome into the day.  Wind welcomed her  softly, gently in song, but let her know she was there with her biting crisp chill that blew strait to her bones.  

"How can 'it’s a beautiful day' be truly conveyed in mere abc’s? "  

“Come here, Oh beautiful day… Come here.  Let me take you up in my embrace and hold you close to my beating heart.  Come here, my love and let me hold you, enjoy you, gaze upon your beauty…."

 “Come here,” she whispered.

And now...... in the midst of the Come Here.......

Sitting with trembling hands, she clutched at the words she held in ink.   The ABC weapons against her soul.  This was all she had left.  No more words after these.  Taking them and holding them close to her heart she asked herself, “Am I brave enough?”   Interesteingly enough her heart was her pain body…. And now she held this letter, this weapon that could take her down. 

Could she handle these words? Her Achilles heel, she let them in, received them so easily all her life, and NOW, she had the choice.  She had the choice to let them in.  Insulting weapons againster her soul.  Could there be any other tpe of word spoken into her heart.  Was it possible?  Never before had she had this choice.  Now….

(stay tuned for the rest of the story)

Snapshot of the Soul

Want to get a picture of your own heart and soul?  Hold up a mirror?  Think about your thoughts and judgements towards others.    How do you feel about the person you like the least?  That right there my friend is an accurate snapshot of your heart.

Often, the flaws or things we judge in others are the things we judge  deep down into ourselves.  A particular person I love very much once said something hurtful to me....  "embarrassed by the way I have lived my life" was the direct quote.  Man did that hurt me.  Did I sit in that hurt and stew awhile?  Well, heck yeah I did!  But not too long... Because certain tools I have acquired in my toolbox were pulled out and I directed myself back to center.  The thing I knew was that for that person to speak this, meant they didn't have a very high opinion of themselves at the time.  I actually felt compassion for that person once I did the work.  

That statement really was not about me at all.  I can allow that statement to enter into my "hula-hoop" or I can toss it in the bucket with the rest of the junk that gets thrown my way.  

Often, I want to judge others in my life that I feel hurt or wronged by.  I honor the feelings I feel, not shaming myself.  I do not react.  I grab another tool from my toolbox.  Getting to work, I realize the work in my own heart, self image, or judgements about myself are really the problem and not that person at all.  

What's going on in that heart of yours?  Take at look at your perception of others.  

Here's to doing the hard work for freedom.

CHEERS!