This week on Facebook, one of my friends posted an article written, “If Poor Folks Want to Smoke, Let Them,”  by P.J. O’Rourke, writer for the Weekly Standard. I didn’t really know what to think when I clicked on the link, but as I began to read, I was astonished. Putting aside the ideas that are behind the article, I started to think about all the ugly words used in the article and what they mean and how they hurt people. After all, I am one of those “high-minded, right-thinking, progressive elites” that the writer talks about in his article and contrary to what he writes, I don’t hate poor people. He says I do, and I could draw up long arguments to the contrary, but his words are already out there. They are already let loose into the world and those words are going right into the ears of the everyday guy, and as much as I’d like to say that they aren’t personal, they are. They are terribly personal. No, this writer didn’t say, “you, April Terry, hate poor people” but he might as well have.

I’m worried that we have started to lose our civility.  A lot of people will brush words like Mr. O’Rourke’s off and they will say that they are only words. You know, “sticks and stones” and all. Whoever coined that phrase was so wrong. Words hurt. Words damage. Words last a lifetime.

When I was a little girl and I was in trouble, I always preferred a spanking. After all, a spanking was over and done with and I could move on, but the words did the most damage to me. In fact, I can still recall verbal insults from years ago. They last a whole lifetime, and they do the real damage.

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By April Terry (personal blog http://faithwarming.blogspot.com)

Last Christmas, I gave a Karoake machine to my brother’s family. He has eight children, each unique to his/herself, but one of the eight is especially quiet, preferring to be off by himself drawing pictures. Most days, we are lucky to get a single word out of this young man, but just look in his eyes and you can see something at work inside there. My brother reports that this is the one of the eight that has enjoyed the Karoake machine the most. Some might say that this makes no sense considering the shyness of this one, but I wasn’t surprised because I know that he’s got the heart of an artist.

Artists, by nature, are observers. They watch the world around them and seem always to be trying to make sense out of their surroundings. They are the ones who are looking for meaning in everything, God included. It’s no mystery to me that King David was also an artist long before Israel’s crown was placed on his head.

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By April Terry (personal blog http://faithwarming.blogspot.com)

I was sitting in the waiting room of my dentist’s office when I got a call from my mother. Her voice shook a little as she shared with me the sad news that my Uncle Darrell had just passed away. Uncle Darrell and Aunt Louie had been good me when I was a young nineteen year old woman living alone in a big city. Being my closest relatives, they invited me for dinner on occasion and treated me with tender loving care as only family can. I couldn’t help the tears that formed as I tried to console my mom and finished my conversation and as I felt the tears start to choke me, the nurse opened the door and called my name. What timing! I tried to calm myself, but I looked up at the girl with tears. Then, she did the unthinkable. She asked me if I was alright. That started the flood and I gulped back the tears trying to explain that I had just learned of my uncle’s death.

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