I’m not one to seek conflict, but I often find that when confronted with an accusation through written word, my response is less than Christlike. This is my prayer, that I might use my gifts to build Him up, and not tear others down.
Lord, you have blessed me with the gift of language. The ability to put fingers to keys and translate raw human experiences into strings of words, sentences, paragraphs, stories. How often I long to use this gift to glorify you. To tell of your love, to demonstrate your tangibility. But sometimes, shamefully, I use this gift, this toolbox of letters and language, to injure. I pull out barbs, masterfully twisted to inflict the most damage. I catch grenades in bare hand, and fling back with such ferocity that those who threw them are caught off guard at the counter attack. Words are tools. And words are weapons. Sticks and stones break bones. But words leave the deepest wounds.
Lord, let my words be used for good. May they slice through the cobwebs of moral stagnation and spiritual apathy and not through fragile heartstrings and tender emotions. May they be used to build bridges and common platforms and not dividing walls and faulty footholds. Silence my tongue and still my fingers when I’m called to defend my character. Let me be slow to respond, and quick to love. I may win the argument, but lose the war. Help me want to do the right thing, more than I want to be right.