speak and what is spoken

Trying to call my little brother today, I began to think about what it might have been like before phones and computers and modern technology like Skype. What it would have felt like to only receive a letter from a far-away loved one only once a month… or less… How very precious ever letter, every squiggle, would be to the recipient.

Even when I was in school, a note from a friend (or an admirer) was so very cherished. So much so that I carried a box of such memories for many years after I graduated.

I am not certain words mean as much anymore… and even more tragic, I believe that words of negativity are more easily thrown at those we don’t agree with, and that a language of love isn’t heard nearly as loudly (or as often). We’ve become careless. And callous. Our culture moves fast, and our desire to disregard personal responsibility for our accusations and assumptions shifts even more quickly.

Our texts may be disposable, but sometimes we forget that people aren’t, and once words are spoken, they can’t be taken back.

Today I am choosing to slow down, be deliberate, and value what I speak and what is spoken above all other things. I am going to savor every moment spent in conversation of any form, with others. And I am going to try and call my brother back again – I miss him.




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