My grandmother had a writing table that was full of envelopes, letters, cards, pens. Words read and written spilled over her table; her connection to friends and family.

I take after her in this regard. I have a table full of books, journals, pieces of paper, book markers, notes, and tons of pens, pencils, and highlighters. Words read and written spilling over my table, my connection to people and YHWH. My connection to relationships dear and ancient.

These words tumble around in my life. Spilling over paper, over voices, over music. Spilling through communion, through worship, through anger. Spilling into memory, into conscience, into emptiness. Spilling, ever spilling.

Words Lost

A few summers ago, I spilled words all over seventy some pages representing all the work I had spent in preparation for defending my thesis. My last semester of the master’s program, I had to whittle that down to a manageable and impactful amount of intentional words. Then, I took all that work and presented it for peer and professor review.

Just prior to that presentation I has around sixty significant edits needed to be done. I tackled one after another in a cycle of reading, pacing, rewriting, erasing, writing again, pacing, saying it out loud. And repeating the process fifty-five times. At some point, to see my progress, I wanted to get a measure of word count, reading ease, passive sentences, and such.

I clicked the book icon in the bottom left-hand corner of Word.

One simple act. One instant. One curser blink.

You know those moments where everything is going in slow motion? The screen flickered, Word crashed, and all those words flickered from the page. All my work over the past week, gone.

After a day of grieving the loss and anger over computer idiosyncrasies, I began again reworking the edits in a cycle of reading, pacing, rewriting, erasing, writing again, pacing, saying it out loud. And repeating the process sixty plus times.

More than once it happened that the word I needed was right there. Just as I was reaching out with hand and heart to grasp and hold, it flew away like a frightened bird. Leaving me searching for what it was – the feel, the flavor, the form.

I’m left empty.

My table is full of words for me to sift through, seek through, study through. So, I sit down and lean into that table full of words. Sometimes those lost words are found. Sometimes those lost words are replaced. Sometimes those lost words are lost forever.

Words Trampled

Words hold power. And daily, through the years, we wield that power with no thought of the impact our friends, our family, and our foes feel. Until one day when words spoken through whispers, through frustrations, through complacency become bricks in the relationship.

In a moment, in anger, I released words mean and vain. The venomous words my friend spoke became stepping stone for me to ascend in pride and unjust virtue unleashing my own vitriol. Her words crushed my spirit, demoralized my passions, shattered my heart, and worked to break our relationship. My words pierced her, wounding her heart. Our friendship was close, like sisters dear and intimate. But the bricks had built a wall between us that we could only rail against.

When the tears fell, I saw clearly the impact of our words on our relationship. Desiring to work on this broken relationship with my old friend, I sent words of sorrow and vulnerability. Hoping for reconciliation, hoping for restoration, hoping for re-creation.

Yet, sometimes that doesn’t happen. She took my words and fashioned them into arrows against me. All my pearls were trampled. My hope fell within me.

I’m left broken.

My table is full of words for me to sift through, seek through, study through. So, I sit down and lean into that table full of words. Sometimes those trampled words get healed. Sometimes those trampled words get restored. Sometimes those trampled words stay broken.

Words Communal

Sitting in that silence of the morning before children wake for the day and after husband leaves for work is a solace to me. Words are holy in that quiet. Breaking open the Word for that comfort I seek. I read words written ages ago. Words bursting forth with meaning like a ripened berry filling my mouth with rich flavor. I whisper words in prayer, in gratefulness, in sorrow. Sometimes I simply sit in that stillness with no words to contribute to the unspoken conversation I feel.

Unspoken words are a powerful reminder of the potential spoken words possess.

Power to create. Power to destroy. Words spilling towards me for my re-creation and for my de-creation. I spill words towards others for their re-creation and for their de-creation. This space and time I spend with my Savior and pour out my heart fills and empties me in unequal measure.

This quiet time readies me for the trials and tribulations this world offers. This communion with YHWH centers my thoughts, my heart, my mind on a world greater than this table with words spilling all around me.

We gather, my friends and I, for a few hours on a Saturday to share words, to read words, and to speak words over tea. The time is sweet to open our lives and the Word. Then we take a holy moment to close eyes and lift each other up. When women get together to encourage and pray for each other, this is sublime and beautiful. And powerful.

My friends leave me encouraged and energized. Sharing words and life whether through tea, through music, through meals is holy and hope-filled. Time with these women, of whom so many decorate my life and I love each one, is always time well spent.

I’m left amazed.

My table is full of words for me to sift through, seek through, study through. So, I sit down and lean into that table full of words. Sometimes those communal words become holy. Sometimes those communal words become friends. Sometimes those communal words become hope.

Words Deep

Paul, millennia ago, told a wild group of new followers of The Way some simple words that stung deep. He wrote the words in all the love and grace he was given. Sometimes love and grace still sting with the truth. He said it a little different, but this is what I imagine those wild followers heard.

My dear friend, mind the words coming out of your mouth. Let it not be corrupted by evil or lies or gossip. Let your words come in truth and beauty to build each other up. Let your words be words of grace to all who hear, even if you don’t know who is listening. Take all your bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and slander away. Leave gossip and malice to die in the street as you walk away. Fill your heart with all the kindness that the LORD in Jesus Christ has given you. Fill your minds with forgiveness towards each other, just as God in Christ has forgiven you. Yes, even that brother we wanted Jesus to say was beyond forgiveness; forgive him. From that well of kindness, of grace, of mercy, of forgiveness, have your words spill out of your heart to land softly on the ears of those around you.

These words sting for the truth that it isn’t vengeance or anger or a biting tongue that gives satisfaction. It is the slow and quiet heart that walks in kindness with all the unsettled hearts around her that brings peace. Let the words that we speak, either out loud or quietly in our hearts, be spoken out of mercy.

I’m left humbled.

My table is full of words for me to sift through, seek through, study through. So, I sit down and lean into that table full of words. Sometimes those deep words hold meaning. Sometimes those deep words hold eloquence. Sometimes those deep words hold vulnerability.

Words Enchanted

Words hold the power of life and death, of hope and sorrow, of compassion and acrimony, of re-creation and de-creation. Years ago, for a science experiment, my boys and I spoke to plants. One plant, we spoke words of love and life. The other plant words of hate and anger. Less than a week into that experiment, I had to stop. The plant that was receiving the violent words was withering into nothingness. The plant with the loving word was thriving. But what killed my heart were the words that were coming out of all of our mouths towards the dying plant.

For out of the abundance of the heart will a mouth utter sounds nestled deep inside. When I truly listened to our words, I realized that holiness and goodness must be cultivated within our hearts for it is not our natural tendencies. Even when we are but a child. This aspect of the experiment broke my own heart.

I spent weeks apologizing to the plant and to my boys for encouraging such language to be allowed in our home and into our hearts.

My dear friends, truly listen to the words that tumble out of your hearts and into your life. Truly acknowledge the impact your words have on your friends, your family, and your foes. My prayer is that we reach our hands and our hearts for words of life, of compassion, of forgiveness.

I’m left released.

My table is full of words for me to sift through, seek through, study through. So, I sit down and lean into that table full of words. Sometimes these enchanted words release from anger, from vengeance, from building walls. Sometimes these enchanted words release into joy, into mercy, into creating gardens. Always these enchanted words hold power.

Words spill over paper. Spilling into my soul. Spilling through communion. Spilling onto the floor trampled over arrogant feet. Spilling lost to the world and memory. Spilling, ever spilling.