Listen

37

The Bloody Stain

By Damien Underwood, staff writer

On a cold Thursday in December, only days before Christmas, Marlo collapsed under the weight of its own words, never to be the same again. What began with thoughtless words ended with a consuming fire.

Though Marlo would always be marred by the bloody red stain of disgrace, I had hoped it might welcome the painful cutting out of its deepest regret. A long scar would remain, but it was that scar that could cause Marlo to fight harder for innocence and goodness.

Months later, people walk the sidewalks again but rarely wave at neighbors, shake hands with those whom they have much in common, and trust one another. It has become evident that trust begins with words. Trusting someone to speak kindly when you are not present means trustworthiness in many more countless ways. To know trustworthiness first with words, then with actions was to be this town’s richest attribute, the most desired character trait.

Except Marlo could never quite forgive what it had done.

Ideally, the power of words was never to be taken for granted. Everyone in town might have vowed to never be undone by their own words again. If there was something to be settled, it should be done face-to-face. If there was a grievance, then courage would find them talking openly about it.

But instead, Marlo continues to reel and rage, reminding one another of the sins committed.

Only forgiveness can stand now. Only forgiveness can wipe the slate clean. Who is willing to stand up for that?

On March 13, my son, Hunter Underwood, stood before a judge to receive his sentence. On his way to the courthouse, people taunted him. Yelled at him. Booed him for invading their privacy. He took it like a man, because he had done what they accused him of.

Inside the courthouse, he held his chin high, ready to accept the consequence of his actions. For the first time he was dressed in a suit. He looked handsome and mature. And scared to death.

The judge sat high, cloaked with the authority of the robe and the title. She gave a brief lecture on the law and how many laws he’d broken. Hunter nodded, understanding full well that no matter any good he had done, he still had to face the law.

But then, to everyone’s surprise, the judge told Hunter that in the right situation, mercy is oftentimes more powerful than punishment. The stain can be a reminder but not always a verdict. So she sentenced him to community work and a lifetime of sharing his passion for the power of words.

He did just that. In July, his essay “The Power of Words” was published by Time magazine, and the story of Marlo was told in People. Hunter finished his community service three weeks ago.

On Sunday, our pastor taught from Genesis, which recounts a loving God who speaks the world into existence. I found myself thinking about how true it is that our words have the power to speak life-and also death-into whatever they touch.

Life and death are indeed in the power of the tongue. And words are as permanent as ink pen on a crossword.

It is with deep sadness that I tell you this is my last column for the Marlo Sentinel. My family and I are moving away to heal and find joy inside community. For community has richness and fulfillment to offer. And our family has much to give.

We’ve committed ourselves to taking care of my good friend Frank’s sister, Meredith, and providing whatever she needs for the rest of her life. It is the least we can do for a man who fought hard to save the town he loved.

Our hearts will always be close to you, Marlo. We will pray for you daily. Speak kindly. Love powerfully. Listen fully.

“But a tiny spark can set a great forest on fire. And the tongue is a flame of fire. It is a whole world of wickedness, corrupting your entire body. It can set your whole life on fire, for it is set on fire by hell itself.”

– James 3:5-6