Maya Angelou tells in her autobiography, "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings," how her grandmother, who raised her between the ages of 7-13 (approximately), started each morning praying bedside, "Thank you, LORD, for this new day, and help me not injure anyone in my household with my tongue." (paraphrase)
This morning I am reminded of the power of speech. I am reminded freshly the truth to the Word's instructions on living the best life possible; God knows how we're created and our capacity to harm, even with the seemingly tiniest part of our bodies. To guard my speech, so that the things that I say don't hinder people, hurt people, especially in a sneaky fashion (seemingly benign, but really a jab), this is my new thing that I lay at Jesus' feet for His repair.
Don't you hate it when you say something that, no more than a minute later, you know will have consequences? Indeed, out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks. If we're fearful, if we're wanting to get even for feeling lesser the moment before, we'll often recruit our tongue to do the right-making. Except, our tongue seldom does that. How much more restorative would silence have been? I wish I could have held my tongue, instead of starting a little fire. Even if the person who hears the ungracious words forgives me, what battle have I now brought myself into, to hate my very own words and actions and rue them? Indeed, part of the regret after the mouth-spill is the reality that one has to deal with one's own sinful reflection. That is, the mouth shows us a heart we would rather not see. That's why we try to hide it away, to not acknowledge our heart's sorrows and fears and insecurities. In a small way, I am thankful God gave us our mouths, even in their unwieldy way, because it exposes us for who we are: dependents on His grace and mercy. And what a miracle and gift it is indeed when our own fellow men can forgive our words with the same grace and mercy.
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