"There is a time to mourn in silence, but justice aches to hear you speak." — John Lucas
I talk a lot.
It comes naturally. I talked all the time as a child. As the oldest, even for the brief period of time I was an only child, I could talk the leg off a chair. I talked to myself. I read books out loud to the cat (I couldn’t read). As I got older I’m sure I pestered prospective friends with my talkativeness. I’m sure I still pester long-standing friends to this day.
In homeschool circles, the verse about having a “meek and quiet spirit” was idolized as the epitome of the perfect woman, and so I would often have this sense of guilt or dread after leaving a homeschool event because I was quite frequently the very opposite of this verse. I was boisterous and loud. Everything had a funny side (which I still find loudly hilarious), but a lot of people didn’t get my sense of humour. Most probably still don’t.
I fell in love with writing all the words that I wished I could speak very early on. When that progressed to chatrooms, I fell in love with suddenly looking so much more articulate than I was in “real life”. I almost sounded like I knew what I was talking about when I was given a keyboard (plus my 100WPM typing speed). I spent so much time talking with friends online that I was no surprise to them when we finally met in person. I was just as talkative.
As a lover of writing, I tried to wrap words around everything. I wrote short stories, attempted novels, loved poems and six-word stories. As time progressed, I grew to love curating my thoughts on my blog through lengthy articles expounding on this or that topic, or counselling sessions with friends where I would burrow to the heart of a matter and see them find enlightenment. That was always my favourite part; problem solving for others. Spinning words into the perfect web to capture thoughts and pin down meanings. When I think about how the Word of God is living and active, I get a sense of that aliveness whenever I actively use words for the good of others.
Until lately.
Over the years, I have talked so much. I have used so many words, pouring them endlessly into other people’s hearts in the hope of providing enough anchor points for them to triangulate the truth off. I’ve used words like a blanket to wrap around the wounded, or as bandages to stop the bleeding. I’ve used words like a scalpel to peel back the skin and slice close to the bone of painful issues. I’ve used words to stitch up torn open souls, and to ease troubled minds. I’ve used words as lenses to view circumstances and scenarios from different angles and points of views in order for them to be better understood. In some cases, I’ve seen fruit from my extensive efforts through the sharing of words, but most others, I’ve seen the same patterns repeating over and over again; my words becoming meaningless background noise for the opening of the same wounds I tried to patch, the same brokenness I tried to mend. And I’m tired.
These days when I think of opening my mouth, I feel a welling sense of despair in my soul. “What is the point? Why waste your time? What difference does it make?” and I feel the words inside me sink back beneath the surface and disappear into the depths of my soul. Coming to terms with the fact that I am incapable of making changes or fixing people on my own has made me recognise (rightly or wrongly) how meaningless my words truly are. They are not the Living Word of Truth. They may communicate it, but even that communication is pointless if the heart is not ready to receive. I cannot fabricate revelation for a person. I cannot change a heart. Only God can do that. So what’s the point of saying anything? What use could my words have?
Part of my mind is telling me it’s a lie from the enemy to keep me silent. Those whispers that say, “you’re wasting your time, you’re making no difference, ash and dust, that’s all your words are” do sound a lot like lies, but I can’t help but wonder if they’re true. Has everything I’ve spoken and shared; the pouring out of my heart and soul to people in the form of words truly been wasted? If there is nothing to show for all I’ve given, have I been casting my pearls before swine, or is to even call my words “pearls” a stretch? I always thought words were powerful, but now I’m not so sure.
I’ve been lied to and deceived by people so many times in my life. They used words. I hear people’s words now and am discouraged that my first response is usually doubt. How can I believe what you’re saying, when I have been spun so many lies so convincingly over time? When people can talk the talk so effectively yet be walking a walk completely different, I can’t help but be skeptical. Are my words as worthless as yours, I wonder, even if I know mine are as true as I can be sure?
I know my words are not as powerful as God’s Word. I’ve never really thought so, but perhaps I conned myself into thinking that if I was speaking God’s truth it would be as effective as God’s Word itself. Just because I communicate truth however, does not mean it’s the truth that changes a heart. The vessel is not what it contains, it merely pours it out. Perhaps I had more faith in my pouring abilities than I did in the Truth I claimed to be containing.
The irony, I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, is that I am using words to articulate all of this. Though I may be quieter than usual on the outside, the words still exist. They swirl like a brooding cyclone in my mind, wreaking havoc upon me by headaches and poor sleep. Swirling words I’m still trying to grab and wrap around concepts that were never meant to be worked out mentally. Mortal words will never fix spiritual problems. I guess that’s why it’s easy to see what I have to say as worthless; my words will never be the Living Word. I can’t fix a broken heart, so why even try? What can my fruitless words do?
But words still exist as a lifeblood for me. To line up the right letters into the right sentences; to translate my feelings and wrestlings into rows of words is cathartic for me. As if I release the pressure built up in my soul into a gushing torrent of writing; my pounding fingers upon the keyboard giving me blessed relief, as though bleeding out onto the page. I cannot fix anyone with my words, but I can express them for myself. Words may not help anyone else, but they help me. The Living Word may not choose to use my words to change a life, but I can still allow them to change mine. God’s loving arms reach out to me not only through His own words, but through the words I write. The words I sing. The words I read. The words I share. Maybe the releasing of words into the atmosphere has all been for me; that maybe, somewhere down the road they’ll all come back to me and whisper the truths I need to hear.
I need to believe my words amount to something. Anything. Yet, even when my words fail—and they will fail—my life is held together by truer words, spoken by the Almighty Word Himself.
And maybe, if I am silent, I will get to hear Him speak.
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Mmm. This hurt to read, but it's also sweet to know we aren't alone--and even better to know that the Word Himself is real. Love you and love your heart. <3
ReplyDeleteLetting people know they're not alone is why I share this stuff. It hurts to know you know this pain too, but I'm grateful God isn't finished yet; that it isn't wasted. Love you. <3
DeleteHe awaits our fruitful listening.
ReplyDelete"If any speak, let them speak as the oracles of God; if any minister, let them do it as of the ability which God gives: that God in all things may be glorified through Jesus Christ, to whom be praise and dominion for ever and ever. Amen."
[I Peter 4:11]
I love reading your thoughts, Bushy. Thanks for being real and sharing.❤️
ReplyDeleteThis rings so many bells for me. When I feel by effort is wasted it is incredibly discouraging. I try to remind myself of this truth though:
ReplyDeleteMyMresponsibility isn't outcome, it is simply to obey. I can't control the outcome, if my words penetrate into people's hearts - that's God's realm. I am called to be faithful and share the words he gives me. That's it. The rest is to him.
Even if I know all that, it often still doesn't make me feel great but it takes a weight off me at least. Blessings on you and your words, which have reached my heart several times.