Some things aren't better left unsaid

 "I can't remember my mom ever saying, 'I love you.'" 

Now I understood why she had trouble saying it herself--why she longed for deep conversation more than bling in the jewelry box and why she preferred Jane Austen novels where the protagonist finally says what he had been thinking all along. Her actions now made sense to me. No need for hours of dialogue.  

No doubt that many of us have scars because of words, those spoken in anger or in haste. A man who can't keep a job because his dad keeps comparing him to his entrepreneur brother. A woman who lives to shop because of the scorn of second grade schoolgirls and her nickname "Sally" related to her wardrobe from Salvation Army. 

I have a vivid memory of stumbling into a mud puddle in the 4th grade. After I recover myself with mud down the front of my jacket, Pat Rivers from the 6th grade grabs me by the collar. I can see his face a few inches from mine. "What a klutz. How long have you had your new feet?" The scene is like yesterday. I can see the school awning, the sneer on his face. I smell the musty grass from the school yard. I feel the heat on my face as blood rushes to cover my humiliation. 

I am sure you have scenes like that one. We all do. That voice continues haunting us, sometimes keeping us from trying, or warning us to pull back just in case it happens again. Some go the opposite way, spending money they don't have, or ignoring the need for sabbath and down time to prove they made it. "No one will ever say that to me again."      

The impact of toxic words spewed in rage or mockery is significant. It leaves scars and tread marks on our soul. There's no denying it. 

But equally damaging are the words left unsaid. Like the woman who can't remember her Mom saying, "I love you." She says, "I think mom loved me because of how she cared for me. It seems it was the way of that generation--pretty is as pretty does. Love is as love does. Words are cheap. Actions are deep." 

True, words without actions aren't helpful. But does it have to be one or the other? 

I can also remember a scene in the kitchen of my home in northwest Louisiana. I am maybe in the sixth grade. I am standing by the kitchen table. My dad is facing me. I am talking about how some guy at school has been mocking me, bullying me when my dad says, "You shouldn't believe that. You're more of a man than he is." My dad was a member of the silent generation. He dispensed encouragement as if it should be used sparingly like everything else in his life. The conversation lasted ten seconds but it was significant. I didn't acknowledge what he said. I didn't say, "Thanks, Dad." But I left the kitchen a little taller and a little stronger on the inside. Those ten seconds of encouragement left a permanent mark on my life. 

Encouragement does that. 

Researchers found, for example, that on the highest-performing corporate teams, members gave an average of about six (6) compliments for every criticism. On the lowest-performing teams, that ratio went the other way, with nearly three (3) criticisms for every compliment. (Arthur Brooks, "The Happiness Files")

Interestingly, Brooks cites a similar result from Gottman's Institute research on healthy marriages. Positive interactions outnumbered the negative 5-1. 

Whatever you think about the research, doesn't it make sense? Healthy teams and healthy marriages both seem to thrive when encouragement significantly outweighs the criticism. 

Kids, men, women, moms, dads, employees, and bosses all do better when love is more than good deeds. When we stop assuming, "They already know." How about entering with a different assumption, "They are probably doubting themselves." 

I know there is a risk of over-compensating, of giving too much cred. I know there are arrogant bosses and bullies. But even with those, I wonder who they would be if they weren't so insecure. Would there be as many bullies if there were more significant adults in their lives who gave them at least six bits of encouragement for every criticism? 

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that most people aren't swimming in a river of encouragement. They are drowning in a sea of discouragement. 

I dare you. Multiply the amount of encouragement you give to everyone. Yes, we need the truth. Yes, we grow from criticism. But we thrive with encouragement. 

As Paul in his letter to the Romans says, "Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up." (Romans 15:2 ESV, emphasis added.)

Our neighbors include the neighbor in the office next to us, the neighbor down the hall, the neighbor in the next bedroom or the next pew. Don't assume they know. Don't leave it unsaid.