One More Tear

Feb. 2. 2012

Words can comfort, words can hurt; it is as you intend them to be that makes the words do good or harm. Insults, rude comments, everyday occurrences; but they send hurtful messages, words that intend to harm. Compliments, encouraging comments, sympathy statements, loving sentiments, all bring us joy, lift our hearts up and keep us centered in the universe; all these words intend to do good. It is not the words, but how we use them that makes you hit the goal when said or written.

Some use words to give information, if useful and helpful, the words are good. Everyday I use words, spread encouragement, send messages of hope, give useful information intending to bring help to others; when the intention is good, there is no other interpretation, good does not appear harmful, it is then then intent of the reader to change the intent for their own use or perhaps it is the reader is blinded to good, wrapped in hurt and harm so deeply they cannot comprehend what is good.

Reaching out, tirelessly reaching out, giving of myself because I can, because I want to, my intentions are to prevent others from experiencing the pain, the hurt; what death of a loved one brings to your heart. What loving heart would allow others to suffer the same fate, if you could stop it, warn others? I see no good heart would, it is natural for a loving heart to do what is right and good. I do so then, because I am loving, because suffering needlessly is not in my being, I warn, I show others, what I know may help them, stopping more suffering, another needless fateful life.

Whirling back, I see hateful words, using God to condemn me, for doing good? I find it wrong, and using God to hurt is beyond my thinking, and the words sting,  What person, who’s heart is so full of condemning others, taking information that can save lives, and wanting it extinguished; no good comes from such a cold heart. Yet, though I know this, my heart stung from the words, I give myself space but I feel not the pain from the words, they are diminishing, it is that I remember, my fateful day, I lost my daughter, because she did not have the information early enough, the lack of it had killed her. If only someone had given her the words, information, helpful information, her life may not have ended; but I can only wonder.

A tear, I catch one tear, I ask God to help those that hurt, ask if those that use him to hurt others, be forgiven.  My tear, I say to God is for her, my baby, I would love to have her in my arms, but know he is pleased with her, and pleased I have so loved her, I honor her living, and dying with information, support and the giving of hope to others so they may not experience such a loss. I do not think of hurtful words, I shed the stinging feeling and I am left with the warmth of remembering Jesicha, and another tear rolls slowing down.