Of all the times for my mouth to expel a flippant remark. Today was not the right day. The moment it leapt forth I longed to haul it back in. It was something that had truth in it, it was indeed one way of looking at things, but it was the wrong moment, and the aghast looks and pregnant pause confirmed my fears. I had been attacked by the virus mouth-itis.
It reminded me of the reasons I wrote the poem “motormouth” and how far I have come since then but today will remain as a “note to self” that I still have a long way to go.
Lord, help me curb my tongue, help me only to speak words you would be pleased with, infuse my body in your love, ooze it from my pores so that when I do flounder and stumble the love is felt before the word tumbles and confuses, hurts or offends. Lord, I know you love me to bits, I know you want me to show that love in all my dealings with people, help me to bite my tongue.