Before caller i.d. it was fun to answer the phone and be curious. Sometimes it would take but a single word for me to know whether it was my mother, or John, or Lukas.  I would be hard pressed to tell you how I could differentiate the timbre in their voices. Yet each is distinct. 

This week in church the minister read a passage about how truth without love within it is like speaking words devoid of sound. The intonation and breath is what brings syllables to life. Without affection, truth is an empty shell. Like watching a concert with subtitles, but mute. Or conversation in a vacuum.

I have heard people experiment with uttering the same word with a spectrum of feelings. 

The potential for meaning is broad indeed. I would do well to remember that the substance of what I speak to those I care about is nestled in the musicality of my voice, rather than merely the definitions.