Sticks, Stones, and Words

I sing on the worship team at my church.  Since I love to worship and sing worship songs, and I'm generally a confident singer (as long as I have a group to sing with), it's something that I truly enjoy.  We always have practice on the Wednesday before our assigned week and then get together at 8:00 on Sunday morning for a final practice.

Last week at Wednesday's practice, we had an unexpected visitor.  There is a man in our neighborhood who is an alcoholic.  When I say that he is a falling-down drunk, that's actually an exact representation of what he appears to be.  Often a walk through the neighborhood--or simply a glance out the window--will find him stumbling down the street or through the church parking lot.  He's even been known to lie down--or fall and not get up--alongside the road. 

To say that's all John is, though, is a gross understatement.  John is a man, a son, a brother, a friend.  He knows more about the Bible than several years through it will get me, and he's a gifted song writer.  He can commit Scripture to memory, turn it into song, and sing it in his Bob Dylan-esque voice with ease and style.  He can elicit tears with his songs.  And he has taught me so much about grace and about who I am.  He is a man who struggles in a prison that refuses to turn him loose.

When he's drinking, he also has no filter.

Wednesday night at practice, we were running through "Amazing Grace (My Chains are Gone)."  Because we were going to be singing it while the elders were passing the bread during Communion, we were praticing it in a contemplative fashion.  That's how we ran through it the first time.  Then John came in.  Then we ran through the song again.  I couldn't help myself.  I thought about the message of the song, about chains being gone, about God calling us and then being forever ours, about John.  I sang it out.  I worshipped God, and I interceded for John.

When we were done, John said, "You?  Becky, is it?  You should be less shrill next time.  Sing some harmonies or something, but you need to be less shrill."  There's humility for you. 

Julie, the worship leader and a close friend of mine, immediately came to my defense.  She said, "Beka, you aren't shrill.  You were just singing it out.  And besides, I haven't adjusted the levels.  You sounded great.  Don't worry about it."

My immediate thought was, "The guy's drunk.  Like I'm going to let someone who is drunk steal my joy."  And I truly wasn't worried about it or impacted by what he said.  I mean, surely I know who I am and that God has gifted me.  I'm secure enough in the role I play.

Afterwards, when Julie and I talked about it, she told me that she had so quickly jumped with affirmation because she remembered some of the things I have shared with her in the past about what people have said about my singing.  I'm too loud.  I'm too sharp.  I'm too flat.  I'm unable to hold a key.  I don't have a solo voice.  I should practice more or stick to just passing out the song books.  When she was growing up, she also heard that she couldn't hold a key, and our combined "inabilities" made us nervous about the acapella verse we sang Sunday morning.  Maybe it was Ruth and Bob, or maybe it was just the Holy Spirit, or maybe we've learned how to hold a key, but we did well on that verse.  It didn't stop me from being VERY CAREFUL through that whole verse, though.  Because the truth is that I can't hold a key, right?  That I'm shrill.

As young children we used to sing, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."  Who were we kidding?  Were we trying to convince ourselves not to care so much?  Because that little line couldn't be further from the truth.  The wounds from sticks and stones fade with time.  Broken bones heal.  But words?  They stick with you.  They make you very careful.  They make you cry, even 25 years later.  They make you scared.

Think about that today.  What words are you saying today that are reinforcing what someone already "knows" about themselves?  What words are you saying that confirm their weaknesses--or at least the weaknesses others have assigned to them?  What words are you saying that are instilling fear or creating pain?  Let's use our words to extend grace and healing and peace.  To remove fear.  To encourage.  To affirm.  Maybe those words will last, too.