Oh the things we say, matter!
It was first day of high school. I got introduced to a class of arts. I get to draw and craft. What could be more rousing?
The midterms required a project. I was assigned to construct a model. I hurried to acquire the logistics. I was not to be disturbed. A genius must never be disrupted.
Burning the midnight diesel, I enlisted help from mother who stayed up adoring the masterpiece. I had the building painted with true enamel. For effects, I wrapped the 2"x2" replica with cover paper.
In the morning of submission, I came in to register my contribution to the world of design.
I began noticing the other entries. They were equally spectacular. I couldn't wait to receive the critical acclaim from Mr. Doloroso (not his real name).
With throbbing anticipation, it was time for his ocular assessment.
This was his verbatim review:
"What piece of crap is this? Look at the paint ... so dull and rough! Look at your window louvers, they are not even ... the structure is crooked! You need to throw this to the garbage bin, Butch."
The reprimand was like a descent to Sheol. It was a day of silence. I was thrown into a decimated Alcatraz.
It was also the minute where all my love for architectonics died.
I later learned from Scriptures how potent the spoken word is. It has the power of life and death.
Every so often, I catch myself engaged in such tussles. Just yesterday, with no provocation, I cut my wife with marble-like syllables. The tongue is a true brat. A bridle is always necessary.
With much desperation, I always turn to the WORD who became flesh. Jesus shows me how to speak well.
Whenever He utters anything, it is always apt and forcefully gentle.
Recently a friend shared:
Christ preached the gospel at all times. He only spoke when necessary.