Seasoned with Salt

My younger daughter was being bullied.

It had gone on for a while, and our efforts to put a stop to it had borne no fruit. In part, this was because our culture has no effective systems for addressing bullying; the systems and structures of our society (I hate to say this, but I have found it over and over again to be true) favor the bully. Always. In part, it was also because of who my daughter is. She is the sweetest, kindest, most soft-hearted and forgiving person you could ever hope to meet. She always thinks the best of people. Even people who are treating her badly. She has a capacity to love even broken and cruel people greater than any I have ever seen, that shames me daily for my own hard heart.

But the day came when even she had had enough. She dealt with the situation, on her own, with courage and fortitude. Remember what I said, about how our culture, systems and structures favor bullies? Well. In trying to tell my sweet daughter how proud I was of her for finally setting a healthy boundary and protecting herself from harm, I discovered that language itself may have been part of the problem all along.

Earlier, when we had been trying to deal with the situation, another individual who was involved had said, “She’s just going to have to stand up to” the bully.

At the time, I thought, “I wonder does he realize what he just said?”

My daughter, you see, is a wheelchair user. She’s far more unstable standing than she is in her chair; the idea that she should “stand up to” someone…let’s just say, it isn’t a useful metaphor.

Later, though–when I was trying to tell her just how proud I am of her, and to encourage her—I discovered that it’s harder than you would think to describe physical manifestations of courage to someone in a wheelchair. I kept trying different phrases, and none of them fit.

“I’m so proud of you for standing up for yourself.” No

“I’m so proud of how you stood up to that bully.” Again, no.

“You really stood your ground, my girl.” Still no.

“I’m so proud of you for finally taking a stand.” Argh! Why is standing so essential to courage? My daughter lives every day with more courage than I imagine myself capable of. But our entire language simply does not recognize her!

After multiple tries, I finally found a phrase for courage that worked for a wheelchair-user. “I’m proud of the way that you stopped letting that bully push you around.”

And I am.

The words we use matter. Bullies know this, perhaps better than any of us. Bullies, contrary to popular belief, are not people with poor social skills. Often they are people with masterful social skills, people who can read the room and the people in it, get others on their side, create “in” and “out” groups, and manipulate people in unhealthy ways. The most insidious bullies almost always operate within the confines of our language; people who open with violence are too readily identified and stopped. Sticks and stones break bones, yes, but the words can do real harm, too. The words set the stage. They lay the groundwork. They create situations where violence can occur with the approval of those who have been manipulated first with words.

So pay attention to your words. They are powerful.

“Your speech should always be gracious, and sprinkled with insight, so that you may know how to respond to every person” (Colossians 4:6, CEB). There are three wise points in this single sentence that should apply to how we speak. Graciousness, or courtesy and good manners, should apply to everything we say, but we often stop there. We need to add to that insight—the quality of accurate, intuitive understanding of the person or people to whom we are speaking. Many translations use Paul’s colloquial phrase, seasoned with salt, here—a phrase that carries the connotation of enhancing the effect of a thing. The person who advised my daughter to stand up to the bully spoke without paying attention to my daughter, right in front of him, physically unable to stand, offered her a visual metaphor for action that she cannot realistically envision herself doing. And as the instruction for insight implies, our speech should be sensitive to every person. Telling a child in a wheelchair—in a judgmental tone, no less!—to stand up to someone is a dismal failure to effectively communicate the intended message.

So maybe in the end we need to take a lesson from the bullies: speech is powerful. Speech that is tailored to the situation can have a real effect on behavior. Let’s take that knowledge, and turn it to good.