An average adult vocabulary in the US, so I am told, ranges from 20,000-35,000 words. That number increases to about 48,000 for a 60-year-old. This is an estimate, of course, as the language police never require a census of every word we know or use. An individual’s word total varies based on things like culture, region, and education. Reportedly, we may continue learning a new word every day or two, up to middle age.
The good news in that is that I must still be middle-aged because I learned a new word yesterday. Well, it wasn’t new so much as rarely used. Maybe it has never appeared in a sentence spoken by me personally, but I intuitively knew what it meant.
The vocabulary I regularly use is more limited than the one I actually have. I attribute that to the lasting influence of a comment from my father. He began college but soon enlisted in the National Guard. By the time his term concluded, I was on the way. Rather than re-enroll in studies, he returned to the farm along with my mother, where he helped my grandpa with the business. The first weekend I returned home after beginning college, my father asked about my courses. In answering his question, I used a new word that was becoming part of my vocabulary from class reading and discussions. The actual word escapes me now, but my father stopped me mid-sentence to ask what the term meant; he then promptly informed me that if I intended to serve in ministry and speak to congregations, it would be important that everyone from the oldest to the youngest could understand my message. Otherwise, I would fail to achieve my objectives. The point, after all, was to communicate successfully. Some lessons ricochet off the mind like bullets against armor, but this one soaked deeply into my gray matter. From that point onward, it has been my contention that a 25-cent word isn’t necessary if a nickel one will suffice. Or perhaps I’m just lazy! Who is to say?
The term that triggered this memory appeared in a text I was reading this week. The word was “inbreathed.” It is not a radically different word, but is a form that I don’t typically use. Combining the familiar “in” with “breathe,” it was not difficult to understand. Still, it gave me pause. The word choice seemed to add breadth and depth to the action being described. Whatever was going on had an air of importance.
“Inbreathe” first appeared in Middle English between 1350 and 1400.[1] I suppose different words appear when fresh ideas emerge or communication gaps exist that need to be filled. Some years back my wife coined the term “terratarian.” She was tired of explaining her aversion to fish and seafood to tour guides and waiters. Invariably the word seized their attention since they didn’t recognize it. At that point she’d simply say she only ate things that walked on the earth. The point is, a communication gap created space to try a new word. It hasn’t made its way into the Oxford Dictionary yet, but give it time!
I wonder what circumstance or need gave birth to “inbreathe”? Whatever the motivation, meanings associated with the word included “inhale.” But also “inspire,” as well as “infuse.”
In Biblical texts, inbreathing describes God’s activity in the Genesis 2 story of creation. First the human is formed from the dust of the ground; then life is breathed into his nostrils. It is a striking image, really. It was as though rather than simply inhaling their first bit of oxygen like a newborn spanked on its butt cheek, humanity was instead being gifted with breath. The human’s inhalation of God’s exhalation led to life. Inbreathing gives life, it seems. It inspires. It infuses.
During my youth, deep inhalations on cold winter mornings on the farm as I rounded up livestock or took care of other outdoor chores brought a shock to the lungs. Some mornings, I would pause what I was doing and breathe deeply just to experience the feeling. The frigid air was invigorating, allowing the full force of the breath to be experienced in ways not available during warmer temperatures. It felt cleansing, startling even.
I am reminded of words I once read in an application to grad school describing the decision to apply to the program. The person was a nurse, and had been wrestling with the idea of enrolling in seminary. She knew it was time the day she heard herself say to a patient, “Breathe deeply. I need to listen to you pray.” That wasn’t what she intended to say, but it reflected the deeper things on her heart, and perhaps suggests a connection between breathing and the spiritual life. In fact, a contemplative practice known as breath prayers pairs a short seven-word prayer with the rhythm of one’s breath to nurture awareness of a continuous connection with God. It is practice I have used during morning exercise walks. Each inhalation represented an inbreathing of the holy.
Context also shapes nuances given to a word, both at the beginning and during its continued use. Interestingly, in the online dictionary I consulted, the next entry beneath “inbreathe” was “inbreeder.” Associating those two wouldn’t have occurred to me. Rather than inspiration or infusion, consequences attributed to inbreeding include genetic weakness, reduced ability to adapt to changes, and possibly an increased probability of extinction. One of the meanings associated with the term was “an insular community.” Being placed in juxtaposition, I had to ponder the two words together.
An inspired state of being encourages our engagement with others we meet. We are capable of encountering them with hospitality, and perhaps even a respectful curiosity. That, it would seem, is in stark contrast to the insulated community that results from an inbred perspective. It is a closed community, reluctant to open its ranks to others. Like trying to inhale in a smoke-filled room, there is too much debris and too little oxygen to survive.
The commitment to separation and preservation is not without value. But overdone, it can be debilitating, and prohibits a posture of welcome or invitation. The insular community provides a degree of comfort due to its familiarity, but it frequently leads to the community’s demise. Accounts of various utopian communities such as the Shakers offer a glimpse at the outcomes of such a strategy. Religious groups that splinter rather than work at inspiration and infusion often follow the path of the inbred community even though their intentions were good ones. It seems that survival is impossible without the continued infusion of life inbreathed from the divine. It is our true source of inspiration and wisdom.
“Inbreathe” may not work its way into regular usage in my vocabulary, but when I think of it, I shall be reminded to pause, breathe deeply, and make every breath count!
[1] https://www.collinsdictionary.com/us/dictionary/english/inbreathe, accessed 9/16/2025.
