Baby toes
Beautiful.

I did not actually speak the word. Rather, the word became water – tears welling up in my eyes and rolling down my cheeks.

I was beholding a new photograph of a baby named Pearl. Pearl was born in late July and wasn’t supposed to live to August. She wasn’t even supposed to live to term; the obstetrician counseled her parents to end the pregnancy quietly.

There is a long list of words I want to set aside right now. I do not wish to speak of abortion. I do not want to get into the semantics of what it means to be pro-life or pro-choice. I do not want to have an argument that is no doubt important but tends to be hashed out too loudly and angrily to be allowed in the nursery.

I simply want to wonder what it means to weep the word beautiful over a child who is, culturally speaking, not. Her eyes are large for her face, her nose and mouth not fully formed. And yet, this child is beloved. Pearl, this baby who struggles to breathe, surely takes her mother’s breath away.

I want to wonder what it means to know that Pearl is profoundly disabled, yet equally a good and perfect gift of God.

She is Pearl because her parents whispered this name in the dark, and wrote it on a piece of paper to be signed and sealed by the state.

So does Pearl become beautiful when we say she is, when the word settles in the cleft of her lip?

In the book of Genesis, God establishes the world with the sound of his voice, calling cosmos out of chaos. God said “let there be light,” and there was light.

I wonder if we take words seriously enough. If we understand their value – and their cost. Do we recognize the significance of a kind word spoken – even when merely out of habit? Do we grasp the power of a hard word spoken courageously? Do we know how harsh words devastate, how lies damage?

Words create reality, and not just in our sacred stories. When the word “divorce” is uttered across the dinner table – as in, “I want a divorce,” the sentence is punctuated by a new reality. Nothing will ever be the same.

When the stranger is greeted warmly, the word “welcome” evokes a new reality. The stranger becomes a guest.

Words create reality. And words that tell lies destroy reality. When a child is told she is a worthless, stupid, waste of space, she does not become a worthless, stupid, waste of space. But she becomes a wounded child. She may even become someone who believes a terrible lie about herself.

And it happens all the time. You overhear a cruelty in the grocery store. You dodge the gossip on the train. Or your own tongue betrays you – and not just you, but the loved one who is standing before you with pain in his eyes.

As James so painfully pointed out, the same betraying tongue is the same one that forms the words of the doxology. We are bilingual, fluent in the dialects of blessing and cursing.

What language do we speak, then? What words shall we use?

Let us say words like “love” and “thank you” and “forgive me.”

Let us learn words like “forgiveness” and “mercy” and “justice.”

Let us refrain from using the tone of voice that only ever hurts.

Let us learn to bite our tongues when the not-nice thing wants to pop out of our mouths. Even when we know full well that the not-nice thing would be rewarded with a nice big laugh.

And let us pray. Let’s be sure that at least some of the words we use are not spent talking to other people. Or worse, ourselves.

Let us speak to God: reverently but honestly; courageously yet humbly. Let’s practice saying thank you and forgive me with the one who said us into being. Let’s pray every day, every hour, every minute if necessary, for God to help us not be bullheaded hypocrites who make flimsy excuses for wounding with our words.

Let’s pray for Pearl, and for the ones who hold her in their arms.

And let us listen. Listen for the truth, listen for the lies. Listen for the silence. Listen to the child – even when she is asking you the same question for the thousandth time.

Listen to everything that makes you weep the word beautiful.

 

 

19 comments

  1. Weep the word beautiful. Oh, that phrase just means so much to me. What an apt and full description and how many times have I done that very thing?

    Words are powerful. We learn these even as toddlers, but I think not until I became a parent and saw the face of one of my children crumble in the moment after a harsh word from me did I truly, TRULY understand how powerful they are.

    Thank you, Katherine, for such a thoughtful reflection.

    Reply
  2. Jen

    I couldn’t finish reading this because I’m so profoundly stunned by this truth. I know it’s true, and the way it has happened to me recently, In a way which I struggle. I will finish this, but for now, yes.

    Reply
  3. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

    Reply
  4. See, there’s this haunting quote that i have always liked.

    “God utters me like a word containing a partial thought of him.”
    (Merton)

    And you have just added generously to my understanding of its truth.
    Thank you. Very well done.

    Reply
  5. Thank you for sharing this, Katherine. Beautiful and true.

    Reply
  6. “I wonder if we take words seriously enough. If we understand their value – and their cost. Do we recognize the significance of a kind word spoken – even when merely out of habit? Do we grasp the power of a hard word spoken courageously? Do we know how harsh words devastate, how lies damage?Words create reality, and not just in our sacred stories.”

    Reminiscent of a recent conversation I had with one of my dearest friends on the “sacredness of words”. My answer is no, we don’t grasp their power. [This from a girl who, besides people, loves words possibly more than anything else on the planet.]

    Reply
  7. Though I am deeply stirred, I am nearly speechless with the profound beauty of this. Thank you for weaving beauty…so fragile, so true, and so moving. I am glad to meet you and look forward to reading more of your beautiful words. Blessing and grace to you….elizabeth

    Reply
  8. The most appropriate response my heart can make to this post seems to be: beautiful. Just: beautiful.

    Reply
  9. This touches me deeply; it is something I have been strugling with the weeping, the speaking, the contradictions. There is not much I can say that would make sense right now, but thank you. Thank you for your words, and for setting an example of the words we should use.

    Reply
  10. Wow!!! I am deeply touched as well.

    “I simply want to wonder what it means to weep the word beautiful over a child who is, culturally speaking, not.”

    I’ve been involved for years with individuals who are physically and developmentally not beautiful culturally speaking but oh, the things they have taught me about beauty of soul and spirit…they are beautiful inside and out!

    You write so wonderfully about the power of words here. Thank you!

    Reply
  11. Crushingly beautiful Katherine.

    Reply

Leave a Comment