Loose Lips

Judgey Pudgey. That's what he called me. The year was 1996 and I was in Mr. Jones's Social Studies room participating in a mock trial. I was the judge. One of my classmates started saying, "Here comes Judgey Pudgey," when I would walk down the hallway.

In terms of terrible taunts, that registers pretty low on the seismograph. But I remember it. And I remember how it made me feel.

I've been thinking lately about the power of words. It's simply not true that sticks & stones will break your bones, but words will never hurt you. They can break your spirit, demoralize you and even steal your dreams. Not only that, but they do literally hurt you. A recent report in Psychology Today reveals the actual physical effects that bullying and hurtful words have on the brain.

The good news, however, is that as destructive as words can be, the opposite is also true. The right word said at the right time can build you up, encourage or inspire you.

Nothing brings this more to my attention than when I'm hanging out with my husband's family. My in-laws and extended in-law family are excellent at encouraging, praising, thanking, showing appreciation; you know, living in the good word world. The result is that after spending some time with them, I feel renewed, invigorated, and a new sense of strength.

They are better than a full night's sleep.

With enough of those types of words, the hurtful words lose some of their power.

The Bright Side

Boy was the news a downer tonight. Massive earthquake and destruction in New Zealand, four American yachtists dead after being held hostage/executed by pirates, the standoff in Wisconsin over the governor's ambition to bust up the middle class (don't be fooled), Crazy McCrazerton Gadhafi willing to sacrifice his own people (and send oil prices soaring), baby dolphins washing up on shore because of the massive BP oil spill....it's easy to get discouraged. I've often wondered, am I just getting older and more aware, or are these some really crazy times?

I've got to admit, my heart has been getting more and more heavy as I sympathize with so many of the hurting.

But

I have also been feeling extremely blessed. Even among all of this, there is hope.

One recent way in which I've felt palpable hope is in watching my son. I know, I know, cliche parent thing to say. But it's cliche because it's true.

My son recently colored a cute little picture and gave it to me for Valentine's Day. Sure, it was colored in nicely; he gave it some careful attention and time. But best, down at the bottom of the picture in shaky, sometimes backward, not really in line, all capital letters were four words: Mom, Dad, Caeden and Avery.

And I realized, my son is learning to read and write. If you've never seen this process take place, I hope you get to experience it some day. Truly, it is amazing. This little bug who at one point couldn't even hold up his own head, recognizes that letters have sounds, sounds work together to form words, and words have meanings. And that he can make those himself; he can write what he thinks is important. And, important to him, is us.

Not only that, but he, at four years old, can do what probably less than half of the entire world is able to do. He is literate. We are blessed to live in a country where he can become that. We are blessed that he has the ability to do that.

And that is amazing.