insensitive words

I was relaxing in my basement this afternoon, when some random chain of thoughts brought me back eleven years. Can you recall the most insensitive statement you have ever made? I can. I can pinpoint the place, time, and circumstance. And like every sin against a loved one, I can't take it back.

When I was 20, I spent the majority of my summer with three other people. Two of them had developed into close work friends over the previous couple years, the third was one of the other's little sister, recently hired. We'd jump from the grocery world to one another's homes; we attended graduation parties together, ate meals at Hacienda together, watched the 4th of July fireworks together, and played an astronomical number of NHL '99 games...together.

My male friends enjoyed teasing me because of the number of younger girls that thought I was the epitome of the perfect man. It was a greater deal more frustrating for me, and a bit of a sore spot. My friend's sister was no exception in that she shadowed me regularly at work, to the point that my dad embarrassed me about it when he came to the store. She didn't mean any harm, and I don't think that she had any kind of crush on me; she just found me to be safe and refreshingly different, and I made her laugh.

One night after returning from an outing, the four of us were sitting in the car when my mouth moved before I processed what was being said. I had compared my younger friend with another female co-worker, as if to suggest that she should become more like her. My comment wasn't overtly crude, but I inadvertently told her that she wasn't good enough. As soon as I said it, I knew it was wrong, and I knew that I couldn't take it back. She grew quiet; I tried to play it off like a joke, but it wasn't funny in the least.

A couple days later at work, I realized the depth of my foolishness. She worked alongside me as usual, but there was a discernable barrier between the two of us, and I asked if she was still mad at me. She tactfully explained that she had built me up to be something perfect, and this one sentence had soured her impression. Trying my best to salve the wound with human wisdom, I told her that maybe it was for the best; that I was not perfect and that it wouldn't have been good for her to view me as such.

I don't harbor guilt from this event, but it's hard not to feel some regret. I continued to be friends with her for another couple years before being separated by geography, and while she continued to come to me for advice, I knew that I had tarnished something that she needed to believe. She needed to hope that a man could live and speak with more integrity than the other boys that she knew from work, school, and home. And my one statement robbed her of an innocence that would have served her well.

I believe that God reminds me of this occasionally, because He knows how damaging my mouth can be to my testimony. I convince myself that I can say something because it is funny or holds an element of truth, but words that lack love have the power to create irreparable harm. When my flesh chides me for being less likable than I once was, it is a good reminder that my "charming self" was as hurtful as he was exciting.