In biblical times, the practice in Israel was for all relatives of a conquered king to be killed. This tradition ensured the safety of the newly seated king and kept him from being assassinated by the descendants of previously dethroned royalty.
King David faced a dilemma. After several years of battling neighboring nations and soundly defeating them, he finally took time to grieve the death of his beloved friend Jonathan, the son of King Saul. Earlier in their friendship, knowing that David would one day be king of Israel, Jonathan had asked David to promise that once he became king, David would take care of his descendants. Of course, David promised.
After Jonathan’s death, David asked if any of Jonathan’s family were still alive. His heart desired to show kindness to them. Mephibosheth, whose name meant “One who destroys shame,” was hiding in Lodebar, a barren, dry, lonely brown village to the east of the Jordan River. He had lived there in fear and resentment for many years.
Mephibosheth’s nurse had fled with him after the death of his father and grandfather, fearing the new king would kill him. In her haste, she’d dropped him, rendering him lame for life.
Imagine his horror when King David’s soldiers showed up at the home of Machir, where Mephibosheth was living. Now in his thirties, the lame man must’ve felt the tightening grip of a decades-long fear.
Taken to the very throne room where he’d spent his childhood, Mephibosheth concluded that one of the possible outcomes for his eventual death was about to come to fruition. How many times had he practiced his death in his dreams? How many ways had he imagined he would be found out by the king? And here it was. Mephibosheth had recognized from an early age that this moment was not only possible but imminent.
When David entered, Mephibosheth fell facedown on the floor of the throne room.
Seeing Jonathan’s prostrate son, David must have felt a surge of compassion. He said, “Mephibosheth.”
How David’s heart must have broken when Mephibosheth looked up and said, “Yes, sir.”
David surely saw the resemblance of his dearest, most trusted, covenanted friend, Jonathan, in the eyes of this panicked, confused young man.
Then David said words that Mephibosheth never, in all his imaginings of that moment, had allowed to enter his consciousness. Instead of watching the sword fall in his last moments on earth, Mephibosheth heard the one who held the continuance of his days in his hands say, “Mephibosheth, don’t be afraid.”
I’m not even sure the relief of his life handed back to him was the first thing that registered in Mephibosheth’s brain. All the years of knowing he would die by the king’s sword were mercifully exorcised from his imagined scenarios.
His first words demonstrated disbelief rather than gratitude. He stuttered and stammered, “Who am I that you would pay attention to a stray dog like me?” Almost as if he were admitting, “Wait a minute. You’re supposed to kill me.”
But David chose words of life instead of the words of death that Mephibosheth expected, like many of us expect, to hear. I can’t even begin to comprehend Mephibosheth’s response when David returned to him all the land and everything that had belonged to his father and even his grandfather, King Saul.
When David ended the moment by telling Mephibosheth that he would eat at the king’s table for the rest of his life, he must have felt like a dog with two tails.
Proverbs 18:21 (MSG) reads, “Words kill, words give life; they’re either poison or fruit—you choose.”
There is no neutral ground here. No disengaged, disinterested, noncommittal, isolated rock to stand on. This scripture says words bring either life or death. If I’m honest, I can’t say I spend the majority of any day deliberately choosing to disperse life over death.
That’s not to say that everything I dish out has to start with “Jesus loves you” or that I have to end each phone call by saying, “In accordance with prophecy.” I don’t have to announce to anyone that I am uberspiritual by saying, “Have a blessed day.”
What it does mean is to give life, which, in this instance, is the word zoe, the Greek word for eternal life, God’s life.
Jesus’s death and resurrection have secured our forever life, our zoe life, so it just makes sense we should be speaking with an ongoing eternal mindset. Our words to others should be seasoned with that mindset.
I am amazed that many times, when I give people encouragement or a word of hope, they respond as though they don’t deserve it. Or they feel guilty about receiving a blessing. I can even recall incidents when certain people were on the giving end of a compliment but seemed uncomfortable, almost as though my offering a kind word left them weak and vulnerable.
Recently, I talked with someone who recounted a conversation he’d had with an employee. He had gotten frustrated with the employee for not doing a project the way he would have done it.
First, I asked if the employee had gotten specific directions. He said no. Then I wondered if the employee had finished the project. He nodded. Finally, I asked him how the employee had taken the criticism. “Not well,” he said. He then asked, “What would you have done in my place?”
I told him, “I have been thinking a lot about my legacy. I’m not talking about at my memorial service. But even now. The legacy I leave on a daily basis. I would have told that person, ‘Good job. You finished the project. Thank you for getting it done.’”
Doing something my way is just another way, not the only way, and what I might think is a better way is still not the only way. It’s just my way. If the project gets done, it’s done, no matter whose way it gets done. Doing it my way will not make either of us a better person. But man, what gratification I get when I can tell someone, “Well done. Great job.”
So what does our living legacy look like? Are we dispensing zoe (eternal) life? Or death?
Everything we say will make a difference. Everything. We will either ride the popular wave of uplifting ourselves or disrupt the status quo. Most people won’t get it. We will leave them feeling uncomfortable but uplifted, confused but questioning. Some will feel vulnerable without having to strike a defensive pose.
I want to live out the process of feeding life instead of death into people’s lives on a far more regular basis. I believe we are chiseling our epitaph every moment of our life. It doesn’t matter what is actually etched on our monument. What we pour into people’s lives—even the lives of strangers—is what will be read on the tombstone that ultimately matters.
I muddled through one of those moments a while back, but that day, I specifically asked for it. It was a rainy Sunday morning. A very rainy Sunday morning. I was singing a solo that morning at church. I accidentally woke up a little past two o’clock in the morning and found my electricity out. I decided if it was still out when my phone alarm went off, I would pack everything in the car and go to the vet clinic where I worked, take a shower, and head to church.
When the alarm went off at 5:00 a.m., the electricity was still out, so I turned on my phone flashlight and gathered everything. I took the dogs out in pouring rain. I gathered my clothes and toiletries and made three trips to the car. It was like taking a shower every time I walked outside.
With everything loaded, I jumped into the car. Just as I turned the key in the ignition, the porch light came on. I sat there in a short-lived state of postal before I got out of the car and made three more rain-soaking trips into the house. I took a shower, which at that point seemed a bit redundant; dressed; and ran to the car.
Finally, on the way to church, I attempted to settle down, asking the Lord to help me not be a distraction that day. I asked him to give me the chance to bring life to someone with my words. In my thoughts. I was referring to my song at church.
When I entered the worship center, I felt God’s calming in my soul. I sang and soaked up my pastor’s message.
Afterward, I decided I would stop at the local grocery to get some stuff for lunch.
There’s a streetlight at the corner before you turn right into the parking lot of the grocery store. That particular day, the red light was blinking. I assumed it was because the power had been out the night before. I was relieved to see plenty of cars in the parking lot, which let me know the store was open, so I pulled in.
I walked into the store, grabbed a handbasket, and spent about thirty minutes gathering avocados and supplies to make guac—I was having a hankering.
Going down one aisle, I ran into a young man, obviously doing family shopping, with a cart full of groceries. I needed to get past him and asked him to excuse me, which he graciously did.
A few minutes later, as I approached the self-check aisle, the same guy was ahead of me, and I heard him say, “No way. Are you kidding me?”
The register assistant tiredly said, “No. I’m not.”
He replied, “Well, what am I supposed to do?”
She said, “You can go to the customer service desk.”
I glanced up and saw a fairly long line of brow-furrowed people at the service desk. I jokingly said to the guy, “Are you giving her a hard time?”
He looked at me, trying to hide frustration, and said, “I hope you have cash.”
“Why?”
“Because every credit card machine in the store is down.”
I had no cash. My first reaction was to get my back up like a spitting cat. But then I remembered the prayer.
It was not fair. I wanted to be mad. But I noticed the other guy refrained from exhibiting frustration. He must have shopped for at least an hour. He asked, “Why didn’t they announce it over the intercom?”
She said they had. But I’d never heard it while I was in the store. The other guy said, “What should I do with all this stuff?” She told him to just leave it, and someone else would take care of it.
He left, and then she turned her weary eyes toward me. She had her shoulders squared, ready to be defensive. I looked at her and said, “I feel so bad that someone is going to have to return all this stuff to the shelves. But I know it’s not your fault. So don’t think I’m going to be one of the people who try to make it your fault.”
Her shoulders drooped as she said, “Thank you.”
Then I drove to the closest discount center and bought all the same stuff cheaper.
The next day, I was recounting what had happened to a friend, and she said, “Well, you were a lot nicer than I would have been. I would have told her they wasted a half hour of my life. And there should have been notes on the door in big red letters. And there should have been people standing at the door to tell people the credit card machines were down.”
I said, “Yeah, that may be right. But the bottom line for me is that I know if that lady remembers that moment, I may have been the only chance of her seeing Jesus that day. And if she saw something different from the rest of the crowd, then that’s to God’s credit.” I want that to be my legacy. Besides, it just felt good. I didn’t walk away feeling like I needed to be justified, stand up for my rights, or have a “Guess I showed them” moment. It may have taken thirty minutes, but I learned something, so it was worth the time.
That’s what I want my life to look like.
Today what will my legacy be? My days and weeks can prove stressful, especially after a torrential downpour and power outage. Will I speak words of death? Or will I choose to leave others with words of life?
Have you been given the opportunity today to treat someone with undeserved respect? Or will you avoid another’s eyes as you insist on having something done your way? My challenge for you and me is to feed words of life to someone today. We may not see the chance, because we are so used to reacting without thinking instead of responding.
First Peter 3:10 (NIV) says, “For whoever would love life and see good days must keep their tongue from evil and their lips from deceitful speech.”
There’s no neutral, drab, or flat color to it. Words either bring vibrant, active responses that resonate eternity or are passionless, monotonous, indifferent platitudes that blend in with the rest of the world. If you pray for the chance to give life today, you’ll get it.
Old Testament giants, such as King David, knew the value of life-affirming words. So did Mephibosheth when he received them. That’s the kind of legacy I want.
Popular culture will answer with “Cheese and pepperoni.” But the eternal maxim still stands: “What do you want on your tombstone?”
