The sharpest cuts are not made by a scalpel. They are not made by a razor or a rusted pair of scissors. They are not made by a piece of broken glass.
The sharpest cuts are made by words. Words hurled out in anger and confusion, a tornado of pain and regret. Words that are tossed out as like the blade of a blind swordsmen. He’s swinging his arm, the shiny metal raining down in every direction all at once, a way for him to protect himself from the attack he knows is coming but cannot see.
Our first reaction is always to protect our heart. We go in blindly to painful situations, often saying the wrong thing, blinded by our hurt and anger.
Cuts made by scalpels, razors, and barbed wire fences eventually heal. They leave a scar, but they heal. Cuts made by words…those take longer, and sometimes they never heal. They’re always there, just beneath the surface…a thin layer of skin over the divots in a wounded heart. One little push, the tiniest bit of pressure breaks that thin layer of skin wide open again.
The sharpest cuts are not made by a scalpel.
They are not made by a razor
or a rusted pair of scissors.
The sharpest cuts are made by words.