You Can’t Trust Cinnamon
"Ornery" is a word tailor-made for Cinnamon, the family pony of my childhood. When I read James chapters one and three about controlling the tongue, actually bridling it, he pops up from 1967 in living color. No one got any respect from that pony.
Cinnamon and our tongues are alike in that, left to themselves, they do only what they wish. I never got Cinnamon into shape, but our tongues can be trained to produce fruit acceptable to God.
In the scriptures we are told to put away evil speaking (Ephesians 4:31). This includes a wide range of words and conversations of which we are to steer clear. Coarse jesting is one speech form that is to be put away. We are to be careful about the truth of what we say (Ephesians 4:25). Lying ranges anywhere from telling a bald-faced one to "fudging" to being careless with the truth.
There are also sins of the tongue classified as backbiting, gossip and murmuring (2 Corinthians 12:20, 1 Timothy 5:13 and Philippians 2:14). You would think we could let our guard down with other Christians, but perhaps it’s this closeness we have that trips us up at times. When we converse with Christian friends it’s easy to backbite, grumble or gossip because the listeners are sympathetic or participating themselves.
Beware: These sins of the tongue can be disguised and justified in dozens of ways. Evil speaking, even when it is accompanied by a smile or jolly disposition, is still evil speaking.
Training yourself to exhibit speech "with grace, seasoned with salt" (Colossians 4:6) is tough. The path of least resistance will get you in trouble, which returns me to the contrary Cinnamon. One day my mom saddled him up. She placed me in the saddle and my older sister behind me. Cinnamon didn’t like it. Mom had to practically drag him by the reins back down the lane to our woods. But she kept pulling, determined to make him comply.
Just like that pony, our tongues reject the bit. It takes determination to work diligently at subduing them—and keeping them in that condition. Here is where Mom made her fateful mistake with Cinnamon.
We turned around at the woods and headed back, toward the barn. Cinnamon still had to be pulled by the bridle, so after a few yards, Mom let go. Bad decision! No Triple Crown Champion ever had anything on this pony. He was off like a shot and headed for the barn.
My sister immediately fell off. I managed to hold on until the saddle started to slip, and then I hit the dirt. Skinned up and lying in a heap on the lane I learned a brutal lesson: if something is not to be trusted, don’t ever trust it. Can you bridle the tongue? Certainly! Should you let go of the reins once it is under control? Never. Ornery ponies, fiery tongues—keep a firm hand on the bridle.