Words have power

Although I knew I wasn’t helping myself by thinking of it, I couldn’t seem to drop the words from my mind, the words of another. Something said off the cuff that he most likely did not give another thought to. He didn’t need to, because I did.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” That little jingle easily rolls off my tongue. I wish that hurtful words thrown my way would never stick. “I am rubber, you are glue! Whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks on you!” I know all this. I know that another’s words can only hurt me if they become mine when I repeat them in my mind. Oh, how I didn’t want them to become mine.

This made me think beyond myself, beyond the hurtful words, which I had heard only one time from the other. How many hurtful words are thrown carelessly in another’s direction? Often in the direction of those we love the most. Those words have the most potential to stick, the most potential to cause real damage. Maybe they were only said once but if not taken back they most often stick forever in the head and heart of the other. Playing like a broken record, repeating again and again in one’s mind.

Words do have power, even thoughtless words. Because I understand this I knew I could not keep them. If I kept the words they would become mine. “NO! I DON’T WANT THIS! HELP ME,” I pleaded, “TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME!”

“DO NOT REPEAT IT MY PRECIOUS”

These very words came to my mind. Words of instruction. Words of love and words of endearment. Words I have never heard before. Words that I repeated again and again all today in my mind.

“MY PRECIOUS. DO NOT REPEAT IT MY PRECIOUS”

These words came not from me but to me, from a higher consciousness, my higher self, from a place of pure love, from God. I hear this voice quite often, this small still voice, which speaks of comfort, direction, wisdom and most of all love. No, the voice was not mine. I am certain of this. The words were not mine, not in the beginning.

“MY PRECIOUS”

What a loving term of endearment. For as much love I have known as a daughter, wife and mother I do not recall ever calling anyone or nor anyone calling me “my precious”.

“MY PRECIOUS, MY PRECIOUS, MY PRECIOUS”

As I repeat these lovely words again and again to myself tears run down my face. Warmth fills my chest and I am rapt in Divine Love. God love me this I know, because the small still voices tells me so.

“MY PRECIOUS, MY PRECIOUS, MY PRECIOUS”

These words are mine. I claim them. I keep them. I hold them dear. God’s love is for us all. I am not a chosen one. I am one who has chosen God.