Measuring twice

I had to laugh at myself. Kind of.  I was one-and-a-half times-ing my pizza dough recipe.  But I dumped in two teaspoons of salt instead of, obviously, one and a half.  So I’m left to retrieve half a teaspoon of salt from a white quick-sand-like substance.  Good grief, I have no idea if I got the right amount out.  But then I did it again with the oil like 21 seconds later! Two tablespoons instead of one and a half.  For the love.  Oil was maybe even harder than salt, it started to sink faster in my glue-filled pool.  I felt like a was bailing out a rowboat that had sprung a leak.  I collected what I could into the palm of my left hand.  Caren! Where is your head?

I think of all the measuring and cutting Todd’s been doing on the window trim.  He’s so particular.  So careful.  Calculated.  He’s very methodical about measuring twice so he doesn’t waste precious boards, a quality I absolutely adore and appreciate in him.  Let’s just say I’m no where near as exact.  About anything.

Except when it really matters.  And here’s one area I care deeply about getting right: words.  And I think this is something we can all become a little more scrupulous about.

How often have I said something without measuring its implication or taking time to consider how it might land on someone else’s ears?  How many times have I shared news that simply wasn’t mine to lend out?  How could I have been so insensitive and told a child—even in a joking or round about way—that (s)he is lazy or forgetful or slow?  I can’t believe how many times I’ve accused Todd of being insensitive (in other words of course, but still).

I’ve thought about all the messes—oh so many entanglements—I’ve gotten myself into over the years because I didn’t think about my words more carefully.  I spoke without thinking. I relayed tidbits I had no business communicating.  I passed judgment.  Period.  I meddled under the pretense of caring when I had no reason to be involved in the first place.  So often I want to make sure to get my point across in the moment.  While we’re talking about it.  When it’s fresh.  When I’m all warmed up and my head is connected with what I’m feeling.  So I don’t forget later.  Oh my. I don’t even want to get into it all.  I will understandably start to cry right here on the keyboard.  Let’s just say I’m probably not alone in my indiscretions.  Maybe we all wish it were as simple as retrieving salt or oil from a thin paste of flour and water.  Because honestly, this was exactly what I was thinking as I worked through the task.  This is the perfect object lesson about how hard it would be to collect the millions of thoughtless things I’ve said.  And regret.  Because I know from years of mishaps and misspoken words that no matter how sincere an apology, those words remain like burrs that adhere to a person’s heart and memory.

So how much wiser would it be to take a moment to pause?  To really think our words through.  To consider how they might be interpreted and accepted.  To contemplate if that’s really how I want to go about it.  If this is the best way to communicate.  With our kids, spouses, co-workers, the check-out lady, the driver next to us, a neighbor, a group of friends at lunch, a Facebook contact, the insurance guy.

We don’t even have to say it out loud.  We know.  There’s a better way.  We can start the day intentionally.  We can open our hearts each new morning and decide we’re going to try harder to regulate our speech, determined to only communicate in ways that elevate, enrich, inspire, uplift, help, and refine.  We can start with a prayer or quiet minute pledging we will look for opportunities to do just that throughout the day.  And we can promise ourselves that we will no longer be hasty.  About interrupting, about being the first one to spread the latest news, about being right, about making sure our view is heard, about letting others know where they’re wrong.  We can change.  Of course we can. Over the years, over decades of falling down and getting up again, I’m learning how powerful our words are and I’m committed to becoming more precise in at least this one sphere of my life.