Stop Letting Off
Smart Bombs
U
S Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg shares the funny story of her
wedding day when her mother comes into the dressing room to give her a final
gift. Instead of a strand of pearls or birthstone
ring, Ginsburg’s mother gives her a pair of ear plugs. Ginsburg’s mother advised her to drown out
the extraneous noises of trifle arguments in her marriage and learn how to zip
her lip. Practically speaking, her
mother counseled her to resist the temptation to let off “smart bombs.” Justice Ginsburg attributes the love and
longevity of her marriage to this simple yet significant bit of experiential
wisdom.
For
many years, I erroneously believed I was helping people by letting off “smart
bombs” of hard, unvarnished truth. Sparring
words with colleagues in administrative meetings, I pointed out logical
fallacies of their arguments and questionable inconsistencies between their
principles and practices. Mistakenly, I
assumed they welcomed my frankness. Actually,
I was alienating everyone else in the room.
Persons who admired my ability and willingness to speak
straightforwardly distanced themselves.
They would not be in the same vicinity when retaliatory verbiage and
actions ensued. Instead of fostering
gratitude and goodwill, my “smart bombs” created people’s disdain.
Marital
and familial relationships suffer greatly because one person perpetually lets
off “smart bombs.” “Honesty without
compassion is brutality.” This maxim
improves direct communication and cultivates better relationships. Do unsuspecting cousins really need to know
about acts of betrayal that previously eluded their observation? Is it helpful to compound someone’s pain with
harsh truths that he or she is unable to accept? Recently, a clergy colleague of mine learned
a very hard lesson about setting off “smart bombs” in his family. In late spring, he had a machine gun dialogue
with a relative about her husband whom he really did not know. In that conversation, he shared his brutal,
unedited feelings about the guy and their marriage. As fate would unfold, the man suddenly,
unexpectedly and shockingly died of a fatal heart attack three months to the
date of the conversation! My colleague’s
blitzkrieg of “smart bombs” which were intended to help, support and empower
his loved one actually damaged their relationship. His short-sighted intentions overlooked the
genuine love that his relative and her husband shared. My colleague hopes humbly the emotional,
mental and relational damage, albeit colossal, is not irreversible. He prays he and his relative will be able to
salvage their relationship.
Wisdom,
personified in the person of Sophia in ancient sacred and secular texts,
teaches the importance of reason, balance and judgment in speech and
writing. Had my colleague listened
humbly to his internal voice of wisdom, he would have realized that it was not
necessary for him to share his frank assessment of someone else’s marriage and
love. Only the two people in the
relationship can really know its worth.
Most regrettably, the crescendo of his ego and emotions drowned out Sophia’s
voice. Were his relative to agree with
his perspective, he could not compel her to take his suggestions. Justice Ginsburg’s mother’s advice would have
prevented this formidable mistake. My
colleague simply should have zipped his lips and listen compassionately to his
relative’s pain.
In
the idiom of African American Southern culture, my late beloved paternal
grandmother advised, “You can’t say everything that comes to your lips.” “Momma’s “sage advice endures as I
continually learn restraint of tongue and pen.
Once I have said or written something, I cannot retrieve it; it does not
matter if I offer a thousand apologies.
People rarely forget an insult.
They specifically remember offenses that were put in writing; those
words hurt more because you can read them again and again. By the grace and wisdom of Almighty God, I
stop and think before speaking or writing.
I ask myself to draft the most respectful, effective and empowering way
of saying anything. When questioned once
about my inability to inform a school administrator about a lingering problem
my daughter had been having with another student, I replied, “If past practice
were to prove instructive, I did not think it would be of any measurable
effect.” As soon as the words left the
threshold of my lips, I wished I could snatch them back. Were I to be able to reverse that exchange, I
would have responded, “I chose to empower my daughter with relational skills to
resolve her problems.” The latter
statement would have been more effective and helpful. Eloquently and elaborately characterizing
someone as useless is hurtful, period! I
did not need to alienate that administrator.
I
hope that foregoing examples of detonating “smart bombs” in business dealings,
family relationships and parenting suffice to demonstrate just how worthless
and ineffective this practice is. If
this character defect remains unexamined, eventually, you are unable to advance
professionally or cultivate mutually respectful personal relationships.
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