Another classmate and I were trying to figure out class scheduling, times and locations. Our official schedules did not match up. We compared them again. We hoped they would match somehow magically coincide. They did not, of course. Each of us began checking the school's website. Servers full. Nothing. We waited several more minutes, tried again, and still nothing. We decided to fly with it. If either of us got new information, we would call, e-mail, or contact in some other manner--likely through Facebook. We tried the servers once more to no avail and called it a night.
The next morning, I arose and went straight to the computer. Praying it would work, I logged in. Eureka! It worked. Problem was, my schedule did not appear any different than on the paper. I called my confused compatriot, leaving my confirmed information while reiterating the information given to me on that end the previous night. I hung up, snarfed some Jell-O, and headed to school.
The day went without incident, being familiarized with the courses I would engage in for the next few months. The excitement of the day was somewhat dimmed from that morning, but not too bleak. I engaged in some small talk with a few other friends, even passing by the one who had tried to hash out the crazy details of the class that we thought were going to be in together. Our mutual confusion and frustration, I deemed, was the result of the crazy and sporadic, though--I thought--comprehensive, information. I was soon to be proven wrong.
I arrived home, quite hungry, and quickly disposed of the remaining, lonely puddle of Jell-O. While I consumed this, my father entered the kitchen. Apparently, my compatriot had called that morning, shortly after my departure, confused and, my father indicated, possibly, just possibly, frustrated in an emotionally angry kind of way. Realizing that I maybe was about to receive a lecture on the decency of keeping a clean slate with everyone or some other lecture along the line of human relationships, I blurted out a response easily taken for insensitive: "It's not my responsibility to worry about someone else's problems." Taken aback, my response did just the opposite. If my father had been a stick of dynamite, my words were the sparks on the fuse. Well, that is an over-exaggeration. He did not blow up, for sure, but he did proceed to speak about my words--easily perceived as brutish, selfish, proud, insensitive, etc. He finished, and I stated my intention: to avoid the discussion that, in fact, I caused. He seemed to understand it, and that was the end of it.
As a mulled over a phrase for which to express the lesson learned, I headed over to my laptop and logged in to Facebook. It turned out that my dad was actually right, on every count. My schoolmate had sent me a message, whether soon before or after the call to my home, all on the lines: "I didn't get your message for some reason." (After I left a message that morning, I had messaged on Facebook that I had left the phone message.) Now, I do not believe my friend ever was angry at me (though I should probably find that out), but God taught me one very good lesson, a lesson that at least illustrates how to live life, if not a lesson illustrating the general goodness of silence. As I walled on Facebook after the event, so I blog here: Hasty words, meaning to avoid lengthy discourse, bring about the discourse wished to be avoided. Always wait for the speaker to finish; then, think. Afterward, say what you thought to say, unless--of course--you discover in your thinking that you should not say anything.
"Even a fool, when he keeps silent, is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is considered prudent" (Proverbs 17:28, NASB)
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