Trust
“Mouths don’t empty themselves unless ears are sympathetic and knowing.”
Zora Neale Hurston’s words strike at the heart of trust. They remind me that speaking is not merely the act of moving the lips but of revealing the soul. To speak honestly, we need to believe the listener is kind, attentive, and free of malice. Without that trust, silence feels safer.
There are few people I trust. I withdraw from those who gossip, stir up strife, or fabricate stories. Words used recklessly wound the spirit and poison the atmosphere. I’ve also learned to distance myself from those who go through life in a minor key, whose cynicism and bitterness drag down others. Such company clouds the mind and burdens the heart.
I remember one day walking with a friend. The sea was calm, the gulls floating in the air as though suspended by invisible threads. Something about that quiet morning, the steady rhythm of our steps, and the absence of judgment in his presence made me speak of a grief I had carried for years. I had not intended to, but the words came, almost surprising myself. His silence was not empty but attentive; a sympathetic ear that allowed the mouth to empty itself. I walked home lighter that day, reminded that trust, when given wisely, is like setting down a heavy stone.
Of course, this guardedness sometimes makes people feel rejected. Withdrawal is easily misunderstood, and those who feel left out may turn their hurt into anger. But I cannot live at the mercy of every reaction. I would rather walk the quiet road of Psalm 1:
“Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked
or stand in the way of sinners
or sit in the seat of mockers.
But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on his law he meditates day and night.”
The psalmist points to a pathway of rootedness; a life nourished by trust in God rather than the shifting soil of human chatter. To delight in God’s law is to rest in His wisdom, to trust that His ear is always sympathetic and knowing, even when human ears are not.
Trust, then, becomes a sacred choice. I give it sparingly, not out of bitterness, but out of discernment. I want to place my words in the care of those who will not trample them but treasure them. To share myself fully is a gift, and gifts deserve reverent hands.
So, I keep company with the psalmist and with those rare few who listen well. For in the presence of a truly sympathetic ear, the mouth empties its burdens, the soul feels lighter, and trust finds a home.
Image by Copilot
