The Words Do Make a Difference

In my recent guest post on The BridgeMaker, I referred to the common call and response in church when the minister says, “This is the day the Lord has made,” and the congregation responds, “Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” I bemoaned what I perceived as the congregation’s lack of enthusiasm in the often rote, monotone response, instead of what should be, in my thinking, a glorious affirmation of the miraculous gift of each precious day.

Rose Byrd very tactfully took me to task in her gracious comment. “Just saying the words may take a few moments to ‘sink in,’ but I have found over the years that the simple words DO make a difference!” She’s right, of course.

I can immediately think of two examples proving her point.

When my foster daughter Grace joined the family, she and Mia enjoyed only a brief honeymoon period before the fur started flying. Over time, their animosity became so entrenched that their attacks were automatic. They seemed incapable of seeing, let alone respecting, the other person’s perspective. Each saw herself as the victim of the other, on the receiving end of unwarranted meanness, self-righteous in retaliation.

I did everything I knew to do. We processed ourselves silly, went to counseling, discussed to exhaustion. Finally, I realized that getting them to understand the situation was a futile endeavor. Each was dug in too deeply. I decided I didn’t really care anymore if they “got it.” I needed the behavior to change, regardless of their understanding.

So I sat them down at the table and made a proposal based on the only thing I thought might motivate them – money. I promised to pay each of them $1 a day to get along. They had to be affirmatively nice to each other – ignoring each other was not enough. Only I got to decide at the end of the day if they earned the money. And either they both earned it or neither did. They would make money or not as a team.

The next day was a pleasure. They said please and thank you to each other. They offered to help each other with chores. They complimented each other. They were totally insincere, you understand. I didn’t care. Peace was restored.

By the time the novelty wore off after a few weeks, they had broken their habit. Over time I saw that they changed at a deeper level. They became genuinely kind to each other. The words that initially were spoken with thinly veiled contempt became words spoken in true friendship and affection.

Another time, it was I who was entrenched in hostility. I blamed someone for causing me so much stress and anguish that I thought I was going to die of it. I’ll call this person Fred. I blamed Fred for everything that seemed wrong with my life at that time, which was a lot. I hated Fred. I wanted bad things to happen to him. I fantasized about terrible things I’m too ashamed to describe. I felt no mercy. I wanted vengeance.

I repeatedly revisited all the wrongs I thought I had suffered at the hands of Fred, like watching news accounts of some horrible crime or natural disaster over and over. It was an addiction – a habit I couldn’t stop. And like any addiction, it was becoming unmanageable

My brain needed a new habit. Every time I thought about Fred, at the very instant I began to repeat my habitual pattern, I substituted a new thought before the emotions started churning. Before I was hooked. “God bless Fred and please help me mean it.” Let me be clear. I did not mean it. Not for a second. I did not mean the “God bless Fred” part, and sometimes I didn’t even mean the “please help me mean it” part.

Nevertheless, over weeks and months, very slowly, the blame loosened its grip. My heart began to soften. My feelings didn’t boil when thoughts about Fred crossed my mind. The thoughts didn’t come so often. By then, the prayer had become a habit, so that when a thought of Fred popped up, the blessing was automatically triggered. Sometimes I hardly noticed it. And finally one day I said it and gasped in amazement. I really did mean it. I really, truly wished Fred well. It was a miracle.

So my thanks to Rose, who reminded me of the innate power of words.

Let the weak say, “I am strong.” –Joel 3:10

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