Don’t Let Your Mouth Be the Devil’s Drums

Don’t Let Your Mouth Be the Devil’s Drums

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

Now let me tell you something, sugar.

Words may be small, but they ain’t never been weak. They got more pull than a mule in a cotton field. You might think you’re just lettin’ out a little air, just talkin’ but baby, words carry weight. Real weight. They can stick to folks like gum on a hot sidewalk or melt into their soul like butter on cornbread.

Nowadays, folks talk fast and think slow. Everybody out here tryin’ to out-sass each other like it's a competition. Being loud, slick, and just a tad disrespectful done turned into some kind of talent show. Folks clapping back like it's gospel and blessin’ folks out with that “I’m just keepin’ it real” foolishness. Naw. That ain’t real, that’s reckless.

Let me pull up a porch chair and be real with y’all: we done got too comfortable treatin’ words like throwaway scraps. The truth is, a sharp tongue cuts deeper than a sharp knife and it leaves wounds you can't see, but folks sure feel.

I know, 'cause I’ve been on both ends. I’ve been the one to toss out words like hot grits and the one tryin’ to wipe off the burns after. And let me tell you it don’t feel good when you realize you scorched somebody just to win an argument. What you win? A bruised spirit and some regret to sip on later.

But you live and you learn, especially when the good Lord and life put you in time-out for a minute to check yourself.

Now, my grandma Mrs Celestine Lord rest her sweet soul, she had a mouth full of wisdom and a kitchen full of healing. She didn’t talk much, but when she did, you better listen like your biscuits depended on it. She once looked at me after I mouthed off and said, “Baby, if your words ain’t waterin’ nobody, you best believe they dryin’ up somebody’s roots.”

Whew. That’ll preach.

See, Grandma taught me that tone ain’t just how loud you speak, but how your words land on the heart. You can say "thank you" like it’s a blessing or like you just bit into something bitter. Shoot, I’ve heard "I love you" sound more like a complaint than a confession. Folks may not remember what you said, but they'll never forget how your words made them feel.

Let me throw some Southern seasoning on this: you can’t call yourself holy and still spit poison with your mouth. Don’t talk about how you pray in the morning, then cuss somebody clean out by noon. That ain’t holiness, that’s hypocrisy with a fancy church hat on.

The Creator? Oh, He’s listening, alright not just to what you say, but how you say it. And honey, He knows if that “God bless you” came from your heart… or from your attitude.

Now sit tight, 'cause I got a little tale for you. Back when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I heard this story from the Ashanti people of West Africa. You’re gonna love this one.

There was a boy named Kojo bright-eyed, curious, and always gettin’ into something. One day, Kojo wandered deep into the forest and stumbled upon a magical drum. Not your average beatbox. This drum? It played whatever mood he was feelin'. If he hit it with joy, the birds would dance, the flowers would bloom, and even the trees seemed to sway in rhythm. But if he struck it with anger? Lawd have mercy storms came, winds howled, and the sun packed up and left town.

Well, one day Kojo got madder than a wet cat. He thumped that drum like it stole his lunch. Next thing you know, the whole village looked like it had been whooped by a hurricane. The elders came runnin’ and asked him, “Boy, why you summon a storm when the sun was still smilin’ on you?”

Kojo hung his head and learned that day: emotions + sound = serious power.

Now, here’s the gumbo of that story our mouths are drums, y’all. And too many of us are bangin’ 'em in anger without even knowin’ we’re stirrin’ up a storm for somebody else. We playin’ thunder when we oughta be hummin’ peace.

You see, there’s a time to speak and a time to hush. That’s Bible and Grandma-approved. You ain’t gotta bark to be heard. Sometimes a whisper of kindness echoes louder than a shout of pride.

And let’s not act brand-new. We’ve all let our mouths outrun our wisdom. But here’s the sweet tea: we can do better. All of us. Start by slowin’ down. Say less, mean more. Say “I’m sorry” and not “I’m sorry you feel that way” big difference. Speak life, not shade. And when you mess up and baby, you will own it like it’s yours, not your cousin’s.

We don’t need a whole speech every time. Sometimes, a good ol’ “I see you” or “You still matter” can pull somebody out of a dark place. You never know what someone’s carryin’.

Shoot, even your own reflection needs some kind words from time to time. Don’t forget to talk nice to the face in the mirror, too.

So if you’re wonderin’ what you can do to make this world a little softer, a little safer start with your mouth. The tongue may be small, but baby, it can burn down a house or build one from the ground up. Proverbs 18:21 said it best: “Life and death are in the power of the tongue.” Don’t play around with that.

Let’s be the kind of folks who speak sunshine when it’s rainin’, who use our words like balm, not blades. Let’s be the ones who build porches instead of prisons with what we say. 'Cause at the end of the day, it ain’t about bein’ right it’s about bein’ righteous. And righteous folks? They know how to talk like they’ve been touched by heaven.

So the next time you feel a clap-back risin’ up in your throat, remember Kojo and that drum. Don’t call down storms when you still got the sun on your side.

Speak softer. Love louder. And for heaven’s sake watch your tone, baby. And remember one thing you and I will have to stand and face our Creator when it’s all said and done.