a prayer for my tongue

"The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body.  It corrupts the whole body, sets the whole course of one's life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell."

James 3:6

Is there anything more destructive than words? Within the past week, I've witnessed firsthand a marriage breaking, a grown daughter weeping, and a beautiful, smart and sweet young woman losing all sense of identity, security and direction - all because of a few choice words spoken.  When you're with someone who's been burned by words, you can almost breathe the smoke rising from the ashes of ruin caused by a stupid flaming tongue.  It always leaves me wanting to wrap her in a blanket, hold her, and water her head with my little tears.

When I was in the third grade, my family and I went out to eat one night at my favorite restaurant - Bonanza. I still remember the booth at which we always sat, and I think if I tried hard enough I could tell you exactly how many steps it took me to get from our booth around that HUGE T-shaped buffet to the side where my very most favorite food in the world was - chicken noodle soup. (Plus also I could tell you where the chocolate pudding was. That is all.)

That particular night, at my favorite restaurant, with my favorite food, a terrible danger lay unnoticed. Somehow, sometime, someone had accidentally turned UP the buffet warmer's thermostat to a notch it was never intended to go. In other words, if I would've been tall enough to see over the edge of the buffet into the center pot which held my desired soup, I probably would have seen it bubbling in a boil.

I was not quite that tall yet. Just tall enough to reach one arm up to grab the ladle on the side, and, while simultaneously lifting my beige buffet bowl up with my other hand, scoop out some of the unseen deliciousness and ever-so-maturely plop it into my bowl.

Well, as you've surely figured out by now, I got burned.  The ladle filled my bowl to the rim and, just as I was ever-so-maturely returning it to the pot, some leftover soup drizzled down onto my fingers holding the steaming beige bowl. I still remember. I felt it drizzle. Then my hand went completely numb. Somehow, (two-handed, I suppose), I walked calmly around the huge T-shaped buffet all the steps back to my family's booth, where my mom looked up at me. Apparently I was white as a ghost. Before she could ask what was wrong, a single tear slid down my I-dont-wanna-cry-because-I-want-to-be-mature face as I confessed to spilling some soup on my fingers.

She rushed me to the restroom. By the time we got to the first sink by the door, my fingers were no longer numb, and it was no single tear flooding my face. I was straight-up bawling.  Honestly, I don't remember much after that. I remember lying on an emergency room bed staring up at my mom squeezing my right hand as a nurse peeled every piece of skin off of three fingers between my thumb and pinky on my left hand.  Every piece of skin.  That I remember.  I had received third-degree burns.

I write this to say, I heard a long time ago that the Mom is the emotional thermostat of the home.  It's a truth I hate.  But fourteen and a half years in, I believe.  On any given day, our home’s square footage just cannot contain the amount of emotion/drama/hormones/whatever-you-want-to-call-it in this household with one momma and three girls.  I don't take for the granted that the daddy & the dog (our males) remain patiently co-existing on those days, and come out still liking us.  (We do feed them.  That helps.)

There are days when I find myself not liking myself very much at all at the end. Days when stuff has come out of my mouth that I would've never planned that morning.  Days when facial expressions have been made that make me lie in bed panicked: what if MY face sticks that way?  Days when I want to resign from the job of Emotional Thermostat, a job I never once remember applying for anyway.

I wrote down a prayer yesterday morning with my calling to teach in mind.  But after I wrote it, and prayed it, I realized it changed the way I mothered that day.  I thought about my instance as a kid at Bonanza. And I thought about other moms, with other kids, in other homes, where maybe today a terrible danger lay unnoticed.  Because maybe, just maybe, somehow, sometime, someone has done something to her that turned UP that unseen thermostat to a notch it was never intended to go.

So I'm unapologetically asking every mom reading this little blog a hard question, myself included:  Are you bubbling to a boil?  If they were a little taller, might the innocent, hungry ones who ladle into our hearts every day see a danger – flames of human anger and bitterness?

It’s a familiar fire, the fire of hell.  It’s the same fire from which you, sweet sister, and I, if we have put our trust in Jesus, have been snatched like burning sticks. (See Zech. 3:2.)

But they're kids.  They're just kids.  They're hungry.  (You can read that metaphorically or literally; is it just me or isn't somebody ALWAYS hungry??)  They're not trying to be reckless and immature with your heart.  They’re not trying to be reckless and immature with your heart.  And by all means, they are NOT the ones who turned up the heat.  So let's let them off the hook, shall we?

Better yet, let's let the only One who can heal, heal.  

Let's let the only One who was there everytime the thermostat was touched, adjust.  

Let's let the only One who lavished on us the gifts of children of our own - and that is what they are: lavish gifts from Him - fill our mouths with what they need to nourish their hungry souls, hearts, and minds.

It seems to me that the tongue is gonna be on fire no matter what.  It's a flame.  That's what it is.  It has the power to burn your life down.  Or your kids'.  But fire isn't always bad.  Within the bounds of a fireplace, it provides warmth for comfort, enjoyment, and survival.  On the wick of a candle, it provides light that no darkness can dispel.  And one day a long time ago, on the tongues of normal, everyday Jesus-followers like you and me, it provided for people to hear the Gospel for the very first time in ways they could understand.  Yes, fire.  Flaming tongues.  But we're talking about a different kind of fire, aren't we?

"They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them.  All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages as the Spirit enabled them.

Now there were staying in Jerusalem God-fearing Jews from every nation under heaven.  ...each one heard their own language being spoken."

Acts 2:3-6

The question is not,

Is my tongue going to be a flaming fire today?

The question is only,

Will it be lit with the fire of the Holy Spirit, or with the fire of hell? 

Today?

Here is my new prayer. 

Won’t you try it with me?

Today, Lord…

Draw people to the gospel by enabling me to speak in ways they understand. (Acts 2:5-6; Neh. 8)

May my tongue be lit by the fire of the Holy Spirit, not by the flames of hell. (Acts 2; James 3)

Because You’ve redeemed, restored, and re-created me, I am a salt spring – let my mouth produce the saltwater of praise, not the yucky freshwater of cursing human beings made in Your image. (James 3:9-11)

Let my conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that I may know how to answer everyone. (Col. 4:6)

Amen.