Between the Two Ponds
One passage. One idea. A few quiet minutes. Short devotional readings for people being formed by grace, written from a small chair beside still water in Falcon, Colorado.
Pull one up. Read slowly. There is no hurry here.
The Whisper
Two people you know have their heads close together and they are whispering, and when you get near, their eyes drop. Or their voices suddenly get loud and bright and a little too high, and they ask you how your weekend was.
"Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses because of the Cushite woman whom he had married." (Numbers 12:1)
You have walked into that room. Everyone has. Two people you know have their heads close together, whispering, and when you come near their eyes drop, or their voices jump suddenly bright and high and they ask how your weekend was. And you know.
The truth is that nearly all of us, in the course of an ordinary conversation, say something about someone who is not there. Most of it is harmless, only information moving between people. Some of it is even good, a kind word handed to a stranger about a person he has not yet met. But there is another kind, and the other kind has a purpose, and the purpose is to raise me by lowering you. It creates a small false warmth, two people bonding over a shared low opinion of a third and feeling closer for it, and calling it honesty.
That is what Miriam and Aaron did about the woman their brother had married. They were not strangers to Moses. They were his sister and his brother. And they got their heads together and talked about his wife, quietly, in a whisper, the way we do when some part of us already knows the thing should not be said aloud.
The whisper is the tell. We lower the voice precisely because we know. So the next time two heads lean together and the third person is not in the room, ask what the whisper is for. If its purpose is to lift you by lowering someone else, it is not honesty and it is not closeness. It is the oldest way there is of pulling a person down while feeling good about yourself.