Shibboleth

In Judges 12, a war had just ended between two tribes of Israel.
The Gileadites and the Ephraimites.

When the Ephraimites tried to cross the river to escape,
the Gileadites stopped them with a straightforward test.

“Say, shibboleth.”

It was an ordinary word meaning “stream.”
But the Ephraimites couldn’t pronounce it.
Their dialect turned it into sibboleth.
That one sound exposed them
and cost them their lives.

A single word became a matter of life and death.

Our speech still gives us away.
Our words reveal where we come from.
Not our hometown.
Our heart.

When I’m tired, it shows in my tone.
When fear rises, it spills into my words.
But when I walk in contentment,
peace becomes my language.

Language doesn’t lie.
We can polish our posts or rehearse our answers.
But in unguarded moments,
our speech tells the truth.

Jesus said it best.
Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.

So I’m learning to listen.
Not only to others.
But mostly to myself.

What do my words say about me?
About who I’ve been with?
About what I really believe?

Because the tongue always tells the story of the heart.

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