The Love of Words

How the sound of them feels while they scurry around in your mind. How they close your eyes and give birth to a little smile on your face. How they have their own secret powers. How you love them all, even the naughty ones. How shocking it is when no one else is laughing or crying or unable to raise their eyes from the table.

How they are delicious. How they cause hair to stand up on the back of your neck. How they have the power to hurt or heal, slay or bring back to life.

The panic and despair of a desperate “fuck ME!”

The love behind a laughing, “You little sonuvabitch!”

How a hollow and hurried, “I love you” thrown over your shoulder cuts like the sharpest “bitch!” ever shouted on a street corner while the clothes came raining down.

How the “Oh shit!” of a middle school boy trying to be invisible holds as much honesty, fear, and hope for grace as any prayer ever uttered in church.

People send me email regularly, asking how a preacher can use such language.

USE LANGUAGE? USE IT? USE WORDS?

I don't know what to do with a question like that.

Sometimes I try to explain.
Sometimes I say, “I don’t know.”
Sometimes I say, “Why don’t you leave me the hell alone.”

rlp

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