Repetition makes no sense. Most who follow my blog already know my situation, paralyzed, confined to bed. However, if I did not believe that there was not a purpose for my years of suffering – If I stop believing in some grand master plan – then I might as well take another razor to my wrist.
Because then life would be sheer futility at best.
What would be the point? Suffering for no reason? Existence to non-existence? These make sense?
Nobody knows what comes next nor has anyone come back from the dead to share any information with me personally.
Careless words can pull the rug of hope out from under a person clinging to that last thread. Hope is fragile, delicate . . . easily shattered by one well-meaning but untimely remark.
Words have the power to crush or encourage. Before we ever speak, we need to listen. The tone of another’s heart cry speaks volumes to the hearing ear.
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel” Maya Angelou
Categories: The power of the tongue, Words, Writing
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