Some time ago, my life collapsed like a building under a wrecking ball, a device of my own creation. As I sifted through the debris of those ruins, my sustenance came from the love of some family members, the comfort of two loyal friends, and the remnants of a battered faith.
And from the solace of words.
Sometimes when we are at rock bottom, dead to the joys of the world, filled with agonizing regrets for the past and fearful of the future, we forget the strength and hope we can take from words. We hear that “actions speak louder than words,” that “a picture is worth a thousand words,” or that “words are cheap.” Facta, non verba, goes the old Latin tag, “deeds not words,” and so we fail to consider the restorative powers of language.