There is a time for action, and a time for waiting. A time for speaking, and a time for silence.
All too often we fail to speak up when we should. Sometimes, however, silence serves better. This passage comes from another of my favorite books, George MacDonald's The Princess and Curdie. Curdie is being prepared for a difficult and dangerous mission.
The pigeon gave a flutter, and spread out one of its red-spotted wings across the old woman's bosom.
"I will mend the little angel," she said, "and in a week or two it will be flying again. So you may ease your heart about the pigeon."
"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" cried Curdie. "I don't know how to thank you."
"Then I will tell you. There is only one way I care for. Do better, and grow better, and be better. And never kill anything without a good reason for it."
"Ma'am, I will go and fetch my bow and arrows, and you shall burn them yourself."
"I have no fire that would burn your bow and arrows, Curdie."
"Then I promise you to burn them all under my mother's porridge pot tomorrow morning."
"No, no, Curdie. Keep them, and practice with them every day, and grow a good shot. There are plenty of bad things that want killing, and a day will come when they will prove useful. But I must see first whether you will do as I tell you."
"That I will!" said Curdie. "What is it, ma’am?"
"Only something not to do," answered the old lady. "If you should hear anyone speak about me, never to laugh or make fun of me."
"Oh, ma’am!" exclaimed Curdie, shocked that she should think such a request needful.
"Stop, stop," she went on. "People hereabouts sometimes tell very odd and in fact ridiculous stories of an old woman who watches what is going on, and occasionally interferes. They mean me, though what they say is often great nonsense. Now what I want of you is not to laugh, or side with them in any way; because they will take that to mean that you don’t believe there is any such person a bit more than they do. Now that would not be the case—would it, Curdie?"
"No, indeed, ma’am. I’ve seen you." The old woman smiled very oddly.
"Yes, you’ve seen me," she said. "But mind," she continued, "I don’t want you to say anything—only to hold your tongue, and not seem to side with them."
"That will be easy," said Curdie, "now that I’ve seen you with my very own eyes, ma’am."
"Not so easy as you think, perhaps," said the old lady, with another curious smile.
God, grant me the restraint to remain silent when I should, the courage to speak out when I must, and the wisdom to know the difference.
