“But let your ‘yes’ mean ‘yes,’ and your ‘no’ mean ‘no.’ Anything more than this is from the evil one.” Matthew 5:37
Taylor University, my college alma mater, had a dinnertime custom for many years. Folklore had it that, over the years, many women had transferred to other schools because of this tradition.
Every weekday evening at exactly six, the doors of the dining hall would open, but only for the women. The ladies would stream in, filling every other seat at the round, eight-person tables. They made this processional to the strains of an ancient upright piano in the corner, played, of course, by a music major.
Once the dining hall was exactly half-filled, the men were released, set free to prowl the tables, looking for somewhere to sit. In selecting the chair they wanted, they were also choosing where they didn’t want to spend their dinner hour. Now you know why the women hated this practice.
Women students—and a few brave men—serving food family style, waited on tables. I’m sure a homey atmosphere with pleasant conversation is what the well-intentioned founders of the tradition had wanted to create. And most of the time, the family thing worked well. Most of the time.
One dinner in the spring of my freshman year, I was sitting with seven of my classmates—three other men and four women. We were engaged in the usual college chatter when someone mentioned the breakup of one of Taylor’s “fixture” couples. He was a sophomore; she was a freshman—one of our own.
All the side conversations at the table stopped immediately. Everyone wanted to hear about the big breakup. We weren’t being hateful, mind you, just “fully informed.” One of the women gave the report that it was Paula’s decision to break off the relationship. “Irreconcilable differences,” she said. “Paula loved Michael, but there was just no future in it.”
“That’s not what I heard,” I announced, holding a virtual court, my voice raised to an unnecessary level. “I heard that Michael let her have it. He hadn’t liked her all that much and just told her so. He broke her heart, but oh, well, these things happen.” I was a veritable fountain of gossip that evening, and everyone was listening.
When I finished my thorough report, I took a breath and looked up into the faces of my classmates. They were ashen, gazing at me in disbelief. The men in particular looked sick. As I looked more closely, I discovered that they weren’t actually looking at me. They were looking just above me at—you guessed it—our family-style waitress.
I jerked around in my chair to see who had captured their attention. It was Paula. I will remember that moment for the rest of my life—how I felt sitting there, trapped in the crossfire of my friend’s pain and the disbelieving stares of my tablemates. I don’t recall ever, before or since, feeling such embarrassment, such shame.
Words have unbelievable power. Clustered together well, they can restore and renew your family. They can lift your children’s hearts and heal their spirits. Words can refresh a child’s self-confidence, but words can also cause incredible pain. And once spoken, they can never be unsaid.
Jesus was reminding His followers of the remarkable strength of spoken words. He was telling them that mouths are like loaded guns, and words are like the deadly bullets that fly from them.
Protect your children from sniper fire—from one another and from you. The life you save may be your own.