She said she wanted to drink coffee with me.  We set up a time one recent afternoon, and I drank coffee.  She drank water—said something about not having caffeine this late in the day.

“Lightweight.”  I tossed the word out lightly, as a joke.  We both laughed.

I think it was the last light thing we talked about that afternoon.  I’m not going to give away any tasty morsels of the deep things we discussed; not going to disclose any private details of confidences shared.

It was a weighty discussion.  Oh, it wouldn’t rank up there with international peace talks or a theological debate about Calvinism vs. Arminianism, but it was pretty heavy.

Come to think of it, we did discuss Calvinism.  Momentarily.  We know better than to waste time arguing.

Gravitas.

I keep coming back to that word as I consider the time we spent there, her with her water bottle and me with my coffee cup. It’s what our words had; what the entire visit had.  At least, in my thoughts, it did.

Usually, the obscure words I use here are inserted purposefully.  My primary editor, the Lovely Lady, complains (facetiously) that she is often forced to use a dictionary.  I’m always secretly happy to hear that.  Today, I think it’s important enough for the meaning to be clear.

Gravitas means to have weight, to be taken seriously.

I first heard the word used about a seasoned politician who was added to an election slate so the primary candidate would be taken more seriously.  The commentators opined that he added gravitas to the campaign.

That afternoon, we shared our life stories.  Oh, not the whole story, but some important parts.  I cried.  She cried.

Life is hard.  Sometimes, it’s ugly.  For some, the ugly goes on and on.  But, in almost every story, there is beauty and joy intertwined with the ugly.

I said I wasn’t going to tell secrets, and I’m not.  But, I do want to mention one of my memories that was shaken loose in the heavy conversation that afternoon.

I was raised in a believing household.  I grew up in the church, believing in Jesus at an early age.  I never walked away from that decision.

That doesn’t mean I walked the straight and narrow path laid out by the beliefs of my fellowship.  Not by a long shot.

Believing and following are two different things.

At age nineteen, as I prepared to leave home for a new place, many miles away, I was determined that there I would live the life I wanted.  Away from the straight-laced and narrow expectations of my parents and that fellowship, I would follow the path I chose.

I knew they only wanted what was best for me.  I did.  It didn’t matter.  I wanted what was fun.  And, maybe even a little wild.

On my last Sunday at home, I was surprised when the pastor of the church called me to the front.  As he explained that I was leaving home and the fellowship I had known since infancy, I noticed the Elders making their way to the platform, circling around behind me.

These were men who knew me when I was a baby in my mother’s arms.  They knew how unkind I could be, how argumentative, how rebellious.  I couldn’t imagine what they intended as they surrounded me that day.

They prayed for me!  Putting their hands on my back and shoulders, one after another, they gave me into God’s care and protection, saying kind things about me as they did it.

I can still feel their hands on my shoulders today.  Seriously.  The weight of those loving hands, the knowledge of their care and prayers, have followed me through the nearly five decades since.

Gravitas.

I don’t remember those men ever doing that for another teenager walking away from home for the final time.  I still wonder why they did it for me.

God knows.

He does.

And for some odd reason, instead of running wild as I had planned, within a couple of weeks of my move over eight hundred miles away, I was looking for a new fellowship of believers, finding the spiritual home I needed.  There, I met the Lovely Lady.  I raised my children.  I have served and been served.

Someone in that group of men knew I needed that experience at that exact time in my life—knew I needed to hear those words.  On that day, I needed to hear them.

This is important.  It has gravitas—weight.

The wise man said the words centuries ago:

Like apples of gold in settings of silver,
Is a word spoken at the proper time.
(Proverbs 25:11, NASB)

We get so tied up in the pretty stuff, the shiny things, of the first half of the verse, that we often miss the importance of the second.

We need to be ready to speak the words—words of encouragement, of correction, even prayers—when the people around us need them.

Apologies need to come to our lips readily—right when we see our fault. Relationships depend on them.

Compliments should be there in the moment they are earned.  Not flattery, designed to earn us something.  Compliments, building up, encouraging good things for others.

Reminders of who we are as children of a loving God should be on our tongues in the instant they are brought to mind.

Beauty and worth will be the result.  Yes.  Maybe even golden apples in settings of silver.

It may still take a year or two to see the beauty.  And the value.

They may remember it for a lifetime.

 

Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.
(Mother Teresa)

Preach the message; be ready whether it is convenient or not; reprove, rebuke, exhort with complete patience and instruction.
(2 Timothy 4:2, NET)

None knows the weight of another’s burden.
(George Herbert)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2023. All Rights Reserved.