Gò0dNews for Everyone
Words Count
M
by Rhonda Lane
y first encounter with the Word software
“That sweet man?!” she asked as we fell into an
program was when I began to write for this
embrace, screaming aloud our emotions in the middle
great little magazine you are now holding.
of the emergency room. When the embrace was finally
Being a Baby Boomer who literally learned to type on a
broken, she looked me right in the eye and said, “He was
manual typewriter, the program held all types of surprises,
a smart man, and that’s why you’re smart.” Many would
including different fonts, formatting, and best of all, “word
argue with that assessment of my own intelligence, but
counts.” The software counts the number of words in any
those words were planted deep in my heart to bloom on
given article instead of my having to resort to using all my
my rainy days of the soul.
fingers and toes. “Word counts” was an eye-opening discovery, but if you twist that phrase a bit into “words count,” you get a life-changing revelation. Shortly after my parents both died in rapid succession, I had a first encounter with a man whom my father had mentored for more than 40 years. I cannot remember any condolences being offered, but I do remember his seemingly well-rehearsed verbal list of faults he perceived in both my parents, including some question of intelligence. This verbal recitation was no accident, as he preceded it with some sort of warning, which I cannot exactly remember, implying that I would not like what he was about to say as he unburdened himself of his perceptions. He delivered it with relish and a grin of
We were joined by her aunt, Vivian Turner, who is
satisfaction on his face that could make one wish to never
another dear friend. They sat with me, content with words
smile again. While not suicidal, I had lost any ambition to live
or with silence as we sat with my father who was already
at that point, and his words could have sent someone of lesser
present with the Lord.
faith over the edge. The cloud of these words has crossed my skies on many, many lonely days since. In stark contrast was another encounter I experienced
While we do not literally have to count the words we speak to our fellow man, we should always measure them because their depth and breadth can span a lifetime,
on the morning that my father was taken to the hospital. I
whether for the good or the bad. “A word fitly spoken is like
called my best friend, Susan Edwards, and quickly told her
apples of gold in pictures of silver” (Proverbs 25:11).
what had happened. She immediately asked me if I wanted me in hand, fearing that I had had none. Her first words were to ask about his condition. I replied, “He’s gone.”
46 // April 2020
About The Author
her to come to the hospital. She arrived with breakfast for Rhonda Lane is a native of Dalton, Georgia, and is an orphaned, old maid, and only child trying to find her way in the world and lose herself in Jesus Christ.
