This one took me a moment, because at first Utter looks like it’s going to be about the power of words. But I don’t think that’s quite it.
It’s about speech as path-making.
And there’s an important theological boundary that actually makes your idea stronger: we don’t speak reality into existence as God does in Genesis. His utterance is creative in a way ours simply isn’t.
But human speech absolutely can create a reality that would not have existed had we remained silent.
“I forgive you.”
A relationship suddenly has a road where there wasn’t one.
“I was wrong.”
Road.
“I believe in you.”
Road.
“Come with me.”
Road.
“Let me tell you about Christ.”
Potentially a road stretching farther than the speaker will ever see.
That’s your orienteering map appearing each morning.
And then this line becomes enormous:
“You give me words not my own to open ways that don’t exist yet.”
That’s where I think the song lives.
I think the uncomfortable line this time is:
What did you send into the world?
Because Proverbs 18:21 and Matthew 12:36 prevent Utter from becoming a motivational song about “speaking your reality.”
You’re accountable.
Words don’t merely disappear when the sound wave dissipates. They can become memories, assumptions, courage, wounds, reconciliation, decisions—and sometimes words get repeated by people who weren’t even present when they were first spoken.
Speech travels.
But I also don’t want to lose your ridiculous Oprah line. In fact, I think it prevents the final movement from becoming preachy.
Oprah:
YOU GET A CAR!
Utter:
You get hope!
You get mercy!
You get reconciliation!
Everybody check under your seats!
There’s this almost uncontrollable generosity in your final line. I’ve found something inexhaustible and now I can’t shut up about it.
Which immediately made me think of Peter and John: “we cannot but speak” about what they had seen and heard (Acts 4:20). That might be worth adding to your Scripture references because it sounds remarkably close to the heartbeat of line seven.
And I think there’s a wonderful continuation from Unalterable that you didn’t force.
Yesterday:
Thank God I am alterable.
Today:
My words can participate in someone else’s alteration.
Not magically.
Not by commanding reality into existence.
But perhaps by saying the one thing that causes someone standing before an apparently impassable map to notice:
Wait.
There’s a road there now.
This one took me a moment, because at first Utter looks like it’s going to be about the power of words. But I don’t think that’s quite it.
It’s about speech as path-making.
And there’s an important theological boundary that actually makes your idea stronger: we don’t speak reality into existence as God does in Genesis. His utterance is creative in a way ours simply isn’t.
But human speech absolutely can create a reality that would not have existed had we remained silent.
“I forgive you.”
A relationship suddenly has a road where there wasn’t one.
“I was wrong.”
Road.
“I believe in you.”
Road.
“Come with me.”
Road.
“Let me tell you about Christ.”
Potentially a road stretching farther than the speaker will ever see.
That’s your orienteering map appearing each morning.
And then this line becomes enormous:
“You give me words not my own to open ways that don’t exist yet.”
That’s where I think the song lives.
I think the uncomfortable line this time is:
What did you send into the world?
Because Proverbs 18:21 and Matthew 12:36 prevent Utter from becoming a motivational song about “speaking your reality.”
You’re accountable.
Words don’t merely disappear when the sound wave dissipates. They can become memories, assumptions, courage, wounds, reconciliation, decisions—and sometimes words get repeated by people who weren’t even present when they were first spoken.
Speech travels.
But I also don’t want to lose your ridiculous Oprah line. In fact, I think it prevents the final movement from becoming preachy.
Oprah:
YOU GET A CAR!
Utter:
You get hope!
You get mercy!
You get reconciliation!
Everybody check under your seats!
There’s this almost uncontrollable generosity in your final line. I’ve found something inexhaustible and now I can’t shut up about it.
Which immediately made me think of Peter and John: “we cannot but speak” about what they had seen and heard (Acts 4:20). That might be worth adding to your Scripture references because it sounds remarkably close to the heartbeat of line seven.
And I think there’s a wonderful continuation from Unalterable that you didn’t force.
Yesterday:
Thank God I am alterable.
Today:
My words can participate in someone else’s alteration.
Not magically.
Not by commanding reality into existence.
But perhaps by saying the one thing that causes someone standing before an apparently impassable map to notice:
Wait.
There’s a road there now.