I received Disney's Peter Pan video as a gift. I had seen the movie years ago. But as I fingered the puffy, plastic video container with gold-foil details and Peter Pan characters crowding the cover, I wasn't thinking about Hook, Smee, or the crocodile that swallowed a clock. Instead, a long-ago voice came floating back to me from the first grade:

"Julie looks like Wendy in Peter Pan."

The voice belonged to a boy in my class named Shawn, who was standing in front of me in line at the classroom door. I was quiet and shy back then ( I guess I still am), and didn't speak much to boys. I don't think I said anything to Shawn in response to his comment, but I know I smiled; I thought Wendy in Peter Pan was beautiful and mature; to be compared with her was quite an honor.

I remember little of first grade. But of all the things I might remember, I remember a few kind words spoken by someone I barely knew, stored in a mental treasure chest, unlocked by the sight of Wendy on the video I held in my hands.

Surprised a little by the memory, I let my mind float to other verbal memories of my past. I remember Tiffany, who told me in eighth grade, "You're a good writer. You could be a columnist." I'd forgotten, but now, here I am, writing a column for The Voice. Did her past encouragement have anything to do with present reality?

I remember being called "best friend," one of the greatest honors I could ever hope for. I also remember a friend saying, "Your violin playing is almost as beautiful as you." I remember, "I'm proud of you," I remember, "I love you."

But I also remember a boy in my third grade class, Mike, who informed me that my brand new spectacles, my very first pair, looked "funny." He proved the point by laughing.

I remember about as much about the third grade that I remember about the first grade: very little. I remember recess, the library, and the books Mrs. Beehler read during "rest time." And I remember Mike's comment about my glasses.

Other negative comments echo in my mind: "I've never it noticed before, but your nose is crooked." "I'm tempted to go back and hang out with my old best friend." "I don't like you."

I have heard that the written word lasts longer than the spoken word. After all, I write down things I want to remember. Therefore, I subconsciously infer that spoken words aren't as important. But while written words may last through many lifetimes, spoken words have permanence within one lifetime. They can't be taken back. And while so many of my words roll off the hearer or go in one ear and out the other (if in one ear at all), a few things I say are etched on the other person's brain for years to come--perhaps for the rest of his life.

The problem for me is I have no way of knowing when the words are etching or rolling. I might think a teasing comment I've made has rolled off--the other person may have even laughed with me. But who knows? That comment may be permanently stuck in his brain. Those words may come back in quiet moments to taunt him. And sometimes, though my words alone may be harmless, my words may combine with other unkind voices in his mind to form a force of negative influence on his self-image.

What have I said that still plays in the minds of my friends? Is it, "I like being with you"? Or is it, "I'm sorry, what were you saying? I wasn't listening."

My words have a power that should not be used carelessly, a power that gives me the privilege of encouraging those I love. Or the power to hurt them.

Lord, have mercy. Help me pray before I speak.