Fiiiiiile That Down

A short story about gum snapping, Big Apple Red, and remembering Who we represent.

I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop— but when someone’s smacking Juicy Fruit two feet away, you don’t really get a choice.

“Can you fiiiiiile that down?”
She stretched the word out like taffy, her tone sweet with a bite.

Big sunglasses. Big purse. Big energy.
That thick East Tennessee drawl—somewhere between sugar and sass—carried across the room.

Then came the first phone call.

“Hey honey—hold on. Ma’am, I need you to hear me: They. Are. Too. Long. Please fiiiiiile that shorter, sugar.”

Snap. Chew. Pop.

She popped her gum like punctuation and jumped right back into her conversation:

“We’re raisin’ money for Vacation Bible School. I just knew you’d wanna help support the Kingdom!”

Somewhere between the third pop and the twelfth chew, I realized:
this might be my sanctification test.

Her phone buzzed again. She snapped between calls and tones with ease—sweet one moment, sharp the next.

“Do your homework and don’t call me again unless it’s an emergency.”
Then back to the church fundraiser, same breath.

“Suzy said she wasn’t led to give this year. Bless her heart. We all know she could’ve.”

Snap. Pop. Chew.

I looked up and quietly asked the Lord,
“Is this a test? Because it really feels like a test.”

And then came the nail color issue.

“This red ain’t red. It’s more like… cranberry. I need that Big Apple Red. Y’all got that?”

The nail tech gently explained it would cost extra to repaint.

That’s when the sugar cracked.

“You expect me to walk into the House of the Lord lookin’ like I settled for a side of ketchup?”

Still on the phone about giving.
Still talking Kingdom.
Still snapping gum like punctuation marks.
And now, grace chipped—just like her polish.

I sat there, listening. Not judging.
But I knew one thing for sure:
I didn’t want to sound like that.

I’ve never acted quite like that,
but I’ve carried a version of it—
maybe not in volume, but in tone.
In pride.
In the moments where my mouth moved faster than my spirit.

It wasn’t about the gum. Or the polish.

It was the mirror.

A quiet moment reminding me:
We don’t just believe.
We represent.

We carry the name of the Most High.
And the world is watching—not just what we say,
but how we say it.

I didn’t come looking for a lesson.
But maybe the Lord had one waiting anyway.
Not to provoke me.
But to search me.

Because that’s what it looks like when we honor Him with our lips,
but our tone—our fruit—tells a different story.

It’s the kind of faith that speaks of the Kingdom
but forgets the King.

That lifts His name in one breath
and misrepresents Him in the next.

And what if someone had walked in?
Tired. Worn out. Needing a quiet place to breathe.
And what they found was loudness without love?

Maybe they were just looking for one small reason
to believe this walk is real.
And what they saw… wasn’t it.

“Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt…”
—Colossians 4:6

So let our words make room.
Let our tone reflect His Spirit.
Let our presence carry His peace.
Let our testimony speak faithfully of the One we belong to.

Because we don’t just say His name.
We bear it.

Scripture

“She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.”
— Proverbs 31:26 (NKJV)