Words

When I was young, I liked these words from A Life For A Life by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.

But oh! the blessing it is to have a friend to whom one can speak fearlessly on any subject; with whom one's deepest as well as one's most foolish thoughts come out simply and safely. Oh, the comfort - the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person - having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.

I liked being around people who loved me and accepted me as I was, because I did not need to prove myself to them. Being quite a blunt person, I liked the idea of being able to say whatever I thought while relying on the people listening to assess my words, and ignore what was worthless. Understanding that people would sift my words and discard the chaff, but keep the good grain, gave me freedom to speak what was on my heart.

These days, I am a bit more ambivalent about that quote. It took me a long time to understand it, but I realise now that although I found the quote freeing, I was also using it as justification for a cop-out. I used to think that I could say what I liked, provided it was almost true, and if my words hurt someone, it was their problem. Unfortunately, it is not true. Our words are not just a mixture of grain and chaff.

In New Zealand, we have a nasty weed called Barley Grass. The seed head of this grass has long thin spikes called awns that resemble grains of barley. When the ripe awn breaks off a plant, it exposes a sharp barb, which clings easily to the coat of an animal, allowing the seed to spread. The barley grass awn migrates through the coat as the animal moves with hundreds of small spicules on the barb ensuring that the awn will only go one way. The barbs make the awn hard to remove.

If a barley grass awn gets into a sheep’s eye, it can go blind. When I was farming, my dog had a rough coat. A Barley Grass awn got into his paw and slowly moved up into his foot causing a nasty infection at the joint. This little seed prevented him from running.

I gradually discovered that my words are not just a mix of grain and chaff. They also contain seeds that have nasty barbs that cling to those who hear them and slowly pierce their soul. Because I am fairly thick-skinned, I did not realise how much harm words could do. During a debate on any issue, I was skilled at giving as good as I got to people who spoke against me, so no one could get at me.

I was brought up to believe that sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can never hurt you. I gradually learned that words can be very hurtful and harmful. Hard words often strike half-healed scars, amplifying their pain, and setting back the healing process.

Contrary to the quote above, accountability for the harm done by words rests with the speaker, not the hearer. Just because something is true, it does not have to be spoken. Some truths are better left unspoken. And the truth needs to be spoken gently.

Paul urges people to speak the truth in love (Eph 4:15). If the truth is not spoken in love it ceases to be the truth.

I now realise that once words are spoken, they cannot be taken back. If my words hurt someone, renouncing the word does not heal the wound. This was an important, but difficult lesson, for someone who loves the truth.