I am responsible for my tongue.
Which assigns me to be responsible for my WoRds.
My wOrDS.
Words.
What am I saying?
What is it?
What's being said?
It needs to be said that there is more.
More than money.
More than pearls and powder on my face.
More than the cars we drive.
More than the tears we cry for others to please.
Words don't need to come of anger and selfish deeds.
Words don't need to come of lies and pitfalls.
Words need to come of truth.
Words need to come of selfLessness and comPassion.
Here I am not, here You Are.
I speak words not of saints, not of priests, not of scholars or Presidents or Tzars or Kings, nor do I speak as a Teacher or a Leader, but help me Lord to speak as a widow, a child, a friend, and a sinner. Help me to speak more like a thirsty and poverty stricken man, more like a homeless daughter whose home is washed away by the water that rains from the sky, cardboard and plastic burned in the beauty of earthly treasures... because these things, Oh Lord, are what I am and what I deserve. You alone come and redeem the broken pieces that make up my days. You come and allow this I Am Not to join in the story of I Am. So let me speak as one to whom grace has been given, and live like one who knows what it is to be forgiven.
