The Tongue of the Wise

I passed our front door on the way to my office and glanced out the tall window, hoping to glimpse a ruby-throated hummingbird at our feeder.

No hummingbirds this morning, only our potted petunia, wilting on the front stoop. My husband surprised me with several potted plants this past spring. A sweet balm, given that deer have happily nibbled our garden hydrangeas to shreds, munching in the pitch of night, I presume.

The wilting petunia startled me, given that I had watered it just yesterday.

Filling the watering can up to the brim, I soaked the droopy plant. We survived a heat wave this week, and I should have considered that skyrocketing temperatures would exhaust our plants.

Within the hour, the petunia revived and stood tall, vibrant, and pretty.

***

Recently, I have felt as dry as our potted plant. Thin soup, as my grandmother once called it.

That is, until a dose of unexpected encouragement fluttered into the mailbox.

A letter! My favorite kind of all — handwritten on pretty cardstock.

A long-time blog reader (whom I do not know) put pen to paper and shared God’s goodness in leading her to repentance, detailing the specific ways The Palest Ink strengthened her soul. Her words were generous and sincere.

As a writer, I never know where my words will land or how my efforts will play out. But this dear reader had taken a moment to pull back the curtain and share from the deep places, inviting me in, while gently extending a gift of hope in this exhausting season. Her thoughtfulness, wrapped up in tender, care-filled words, was a balm.

Within minutes, I was a watered petunia, refreshed and invigorated.

Encouragement does that.

***

On the heels of such kindness came something quite different.

A blog reader, named Anonymous, typed words that cut. I blinked hard, my heart racing. What was this?

Criticism is inevitable, dare I say especially in the writing life, and while my heart’s desire is to remain humble and teachable, these accusations were cruel and assumptive.

Her words stung.

And then I remembered an article I read long ago of a pastor who, upon receiving anonymous hate mail, pushed back his chair, walked to the paper shredder, disposed of the words, and returned to his desk where he cheerfully began to work on the next sermon.

If disgruntled Anonymous did not have the courage to sign their name, so be it; he would not waste a speck of his time fretting.

Sounds exactly right to me.

Our words matter.

Whom will you and I water today?

---

There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts,
    but the tongue of the wise brings healing.

(Proverbs 12:18)