When I was a boy with a scuffed-up shoe,
I learned to say both “please” and “thank you”—
Not mumbled or flippantly tossed into the air,
But spoken with meaning, with kindness and care.
We stood when older folks came into the room.
We didn’t just text while ignoring the gloom.
We paused before blurting whatever we thought—
For manners, you see, had been carefully taught.
Somewhere between entertainment and need,
We traded our courtesy to satisfy our greed.
We sharpened our words till they sparkled and stung—
And fired them fast from a quick-triggered tongue.
Yet courtesy’s more than a rule on a chart.
It springs from the soil of a humble heart.
It starts with a whisper directed above:
“Hallowed be your name,” said with love.
Before we pray, “Bless what I’ve planned.”
We open our will with a wide, willing hand.
We say, “God, your ways come first—not mine.”
That’s putting courtesy at the front of the line.
For real courtesy isn’t a hypocritical grin
That hides what is false or covers up sin.
It’s truth told with grace, courage made mild.
It’s refusing the selfishness we had as a child.
It honors others, taking the last place in line.
It gives up your seat, saying, “You can have mine.”
It forgives when offended, walks one mile more—
Then leaves a kind smile at the enemy’s door.
In days when good manners are rare as can be,
A thank-you can sparkle like the sun on the sea.
A handwritten note or a heartfelt reply
Can lift someone’s spirit high into the sky.
We need to watch our words as we pick up our pen.
Are we building up hearts—or wounding again?
Will heat fill our messages with crackle and spark—
Or will God’s light burst forth through the dark?
For noise is quite easy. It shouts and it clatters.
But love—spoken kindly—is what truly matters.
So speak with a courtesy that is steady and true—
And remember to say “please” and “thank you.”
