Sticks And Stones - At A Loss For Words

Sticks and Stones - At a Loss for Words

ABOUT TWENTY YEARS AGO, one of my girlfriends lost her second-grade son; he was killed while driving a go-cart. I, a very young mother myself, went to her the morning of the funeral as she sat so small and still on the foot of her bed. I was at a loss for words.

After another girlfriend had waged a fierce battle against brain cancer, her doctor told her that her time was very limited—she had less than six months. I asked her, “What can I do?” She said, “Throw me a going-away party.” I was at a loss for words.

Sitting on the living room sofa holding hands with our then fourteen-year-old son, Scott, Steve and I listened as our son told us, “I’m gay.” We were not surprised; we knew before he did and that this day was coming, but still—I was at a loss for words.

We’ve all been there, haven’t we? When there just are no words that are even close to being able to express our grief, our concern, our heartbreak, our disbelief, or our desire to make things different.

In each of these situations, my mind raced for the right words: words of comfort, words of wisdom, words of hope. In every situation, I sent up an express-o-gram prayer, “Oh, Father God, give me words.” Not empty words—like “I know how you feel” (because I didn’t) or “I’m sorry this has happened” (how does that help?). I prayed for his direction to use only words that would matter.

If I could speak all the languages of earth and of angels, but didn’t love others, I would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. (1 Corinthians 13:1)

In each of the three instances, as I caught my breath and recovered, the Lord provided me these three important words: I love you.

Sometimes when it comes to words, less is more.