In the SHAPE of My Words by Brenda Leyland (Guest Post)

"Because right now, there is someone

out there with

a wound in the exact shape

of your words."

Sean Thomas Dougherty, American Poet

A single word can turn someone's day around. A single sentence can change a person's life. And it can go either way—for better or for worse, depending on what's been said, and how.

The words leapt from the screen to my heart when I first read Sean Dougherty's quotation on Goodreads not so long ago. They buoyed my spirit, and my writer's imagination soared with possibility. For there isn't one among our company who doesn't yearn over the words we write and speak—hoping even a few will be that glove perfect fit for someone's wounded heart, bringing light and healing to it.

So why, when I later read the lines a second and third time, did I feel sucker punched in my inward parts? Did I misread it? What if the poet meant something opposite to my first thought—something unthinkable, but possible in my fallen humanity, and more to my sorrow, something probable. When Sean Dougherty said someone has a wound the exact shape of my words, did he mean that I have words that match the wound to make it whole? Or did he mean it was my words that created the injury in the first place? Dear Lord, it hardly bears thinking.

I scrambled to find the whole poem, I wanted to see its context. Found elsewhere online, it comes from Dougherty's poetry collection The Second O of Sorrow. It turns out, this one sentence is the poem, and when I read the title, which is phrased as a question, for me it felt clear:

"Why Bother? Because right now, there is someone out there with a wound in the exact shape of your words." (The poet recites the poem HERE)

I breathed out a sigh of relief. As a writer I long for my words to deliver messages of hope, joyfulness, and encouragement. I cringe remembering occasions when my impatient, insensitive words rushed in where angels feared to tread—ruffling feathers, agitating minds, and bruising tender hearts. In the middle of the night those sharpish words haunted, and my heart squeezed to think how unkind, how unlovely, how unlike Jesus they had been. Lest I spiral downward feeling the awfulness without hope, He graciously brought to mind occasions over my lifetime when my words had, indeed, poured like ointment over someone's aching heart—what joy I felt at those times in being an instrument for good. 

I do believe my instinctive first response to Dougherty's poem is right. No matter the poet's original intent, both possibilities are now etched on my mind. I cry out for mercy... and grace. For myself, and for anyone else who seeks it. Like the Psalmist calling out to his God, I yearn for the words of my mouth—and from the nib of my pen—to be acceptable in His sight (see Psalm 19:14). That they will affirm and be gracious, lovely and good, and will in no measure demean or belittle any soul.

The poet looks me in the eye and asks, "Why bother?" I mull my answer carefully. Because the words I write, shaped with sensitivity and His divine love and inspiration, will one day exactly fit someone's wound and bring healing to it. Can anything be more joyful and enriching? Can a writer aspire to anything more worthy and excellent?

Top Photo Credit: Image by CDD20 from Pixabay

Permission granted to use the poem "Why Bother?" by Sean Thomas Dougherty, published in The Second O of Sorrow by BOA Editions, 2018. 

Inspired by the beauty of God's world, Brenda blogs at It's A Beautiful Life. A longtime member of InScribe, she's been a past recipient of the Barnabas Award, a contributor and columnist in FellowScript magazine, and a contributor to the InScribe anthology 'Christmas: Stories & More'. Brenda's joy these days is to play with words and shape them into beautiful thoughts for good.