soil level: heavy
08.13.2013 
Yesterday my college kid arrived home for a week. This summer he has been living in Knoxville working two jobs. Needless to say his trips home have been few and far between and short. This house has been aching for his presence.
This morning I walked out to his car to grab laundry. A laundry hamper, a basket and a bag all heaped over with clothes that need some TLC. And it is the most fantastic sight for sore eyes.
I piled in a load and adjusted the washing machine settings. For soil level, I chose “heavy.” And it got me to thinking about Sunday’s sermon. We’ve been preaching through a series on “wisdom.” The focus Sunday lasered in on our walk. “Walk in a manner worthy,” Michael Easley quipped under the spotlights up front.
We spent a couple of minutes on the phrase “let no unwholesome talk come out of your mouths.” Ephesians 4 and 5 are full of challenging one liners. This word “unwholesome” apparently means rotten.
I am guilty. My language needs some work, needs some laundering, needs a little attention. Someone I greatly respect told me that there is only a hair’s difference between a blessing and a curse. I think he meant that passion is present in both. Indifference is the opposite of love; hate is not the opposite of love.
When we came home from Honduras seven years ago, we were in pieces. The process nearly unraveled us. Matt and I sat with that respected friend and I told him, “my friends don’t know that I cuss.”
I knew that on a level my friends didn’t know who I really was. And so I began to get a lot more real. To survive. To not go under. To hold on. And my language began to match my insides which is to say I cussed a lot more often.
Now as I have had time to heal, I understand that my language needs to match again. I need to pay attention to my words. My words can be reckless and hurt people. I don’t want to lose the passion. I don’t want to go back to being a fraud. I want people to know that I’m a brawler and stubborn and so often throw out the curses instead of the blessings.
And so to tame that tongue doesn’t look like pruning my external image with my own shears. It looks like owning my iron will and bringing it to my God. It looks like asking Him to cleanse and purify. It looks like applying the blood of Jesus when the curses flow and attending the broken or hurting heart underneath.
When I turned that dial on the soil level to “heavy,” the timer read 1:27. One hour and twenty-seven minutes to wash that load of heavily soiled shirts, stinky socks and sweaty shorts. As I begin to pay attention to my tongue and to my language, I realize that it will take some time.
Reader Comments (1)
When we opened the hi res picture of the muddy boy my 12 year old son cracked me up. He was looking at the boy and grinned and exclaimed, "This is too frickin cute!"