There is a time for everything: a time to speak and a time to be still. And the line between these two is often muddled.
Except when its perfectly clear. Sometimes the words are just burning in your soul and the longer you hold them hostage, the more they gnaw at you like a dog on a bone. Then, you are either compelled to speak or content to fester.
Other times, you know the words that have found you and long to spill out are not your true heart. They are your protection, your shield, ready in a moment’s worth of hurt. You’ll regret those words if you loose them. It’s best to be still, then.
And there are yet other times, when you know you have a justified truth to say, that there would be nothing to regret about these chosen words. They are, after all the truth. They would be a comfort to you, a release to you, even if they might injure the receiving party. What, then?
And worse still, what if those words–although true–injure no one but you? What if the receiver is neither trustworthy nor deserving to know your true heart? What when the receiver delights in your strife? Or worse, what if those words just fall and fall and fall to her self-sanctified emptiness? What, then?
Be still, then. I suppose.
Write those words on your heart for your release, then dress them up in greens and sweet potato casserole and eat until you’ve had your fill.
