Another five minute free write. This week's prompt is care.
I remember it far better than I'd like to, this one moment in my teaching. It sticks out like a sore thumb and makes me a little queasy. A student was raking on my last nerve, started searching for the words to make some excuse, and I looked him in the eyes and the words came slow, deliberate, venomous: I. Don't. Care. Now sit.
I'm cringing. Because there was a breaking in that moment. A breaking of truth and of trust and of faith and of a heart. How piercing are those words? I don't care? What is the underlying meaning? You're not worth my time? You're not worth the energy? There are a million other things more important than you and what you have to say?
And the thing is, the way I often live, it's like those things are true. When I live the rush. When I make the striving for perfection my priority. When I become more concerned about my image and my sense of control than the lives in front of me. It's a problem.
Care takes slowing down so I can see. Care takes open eyes and open hands and an open heart. And care takes bathing daily in the Holy Spirit, so maybe He can overflow in the fruit of self-control and I'll be a little more careful with my words.
I do care. And I am thankful for a Redeemer for when I lose sight of that.