Teach me to listen…

Pho­to by ?

This has been my per­son­al struggle…I have nev­er been a very good lis­ten­er. I get lost in my mind—not a pos­i­tive trait. My stu­dents some­times had to yell or poke me if I was engaged in some­thing else. I can only talk with my own chil­dren, my fam­i­ly and a few friends on the phone, and I some­times trail off with them. My wife just shakes her head in dis­may. But I am not run­ning myself down. God is work­ing with me on this. I’m not doomed to be a bad lis­ten­er. In fact, I think I’m get­ting better.

Because I get it. Lis­ten­ing is even more impor­tant than speak­ing. Speak­ing (fre­quent­ly) comes from the ego, and lis­ten­ing (almost always) comes from love. Lov­ing your neigh­bor involves way more lis­ten­ing than speak­ing. Don’t get me wrong, it involves both, but lis­ten­ing will open doors more quick­ly than speak­ing. Becom­ing a good lis­ten­er is a gift.

What are the bar­ri­ers to good lis­ten­ing? My obvi­ous answer is self-absorp­tion. I worked in a hos­pi­tal sup­ply store­room once—the sec­re­tary of our depart­ment could turn any con­ver­sa­tion top­ic into some­thing about her­self faster than any­one I’ve ever known. I test­ed her once by bring­ing up some ran­dom fact about Mars. It took her 27 sec­onds to get to the fact that her favorite can­dy bar was a Milky Way. If it is always about you, how will you ever learn about them? What I think is more impor­tant than any­thing you say. The oth­er side of that coin is: I don’t have time for this. There is a line to be drawn here, and it is a tricky one. When is it okay to stop listening?

A curi­ous inci­dent hap­pened the oth­er day. I had to deliv­er some laun­dry to my father-in-law in a nurs­ing home. As I walked down a hall­way, a woman sit­ting in a din­ing area motioned vig­or­ous­ly for me to come over. I didn’t know her. I approached cau­tious­ly. She began speak­ing quick­ly in a lan­guage I didn’t rec­og­nize, maybe one of those Baltic ones. She went on like this for two min­utes. Good eye con­tact but no recog­ni­tion. There was a woman sit­ting with her. I looked at her—her smile was bemused. Point­ing to the laun­dry bag I was hold­ing, I shrugged my shoul­ders, and said, “I got­ta take this to my father-in-law,” and head­ed for the hall­way. So here is my moral/ethical ques­tion: Was I sup­posed to do more?

It occurs to me that had I been able to trans­late what the poor woman was say­ing to me, it could have led to a won­der­ful inter­ac­tion, a mean­ing­ful con­nec­tion. That is the glo­ri­ous ben­e­fit of effec­tive lis­ten­ing. Most of the time you don’t even have to offer any advice. Peo­ple will spill their guts if they know you’re lis­ten­ing non-judg­men­tal­ly, and that sim­ple act makes them feel bet­ter. You become an agent of heal­ing. I’m no expert, but I have learned that the best way to improve our lis­ten­ing skills is to pay atten­tion and ask questions.

Per­haps that applies to the great­est lis­ten­ing chal­lenge that we all face—listening to God. He is no con­ven­tion­al speak­er. In my rela­tion­ship, I do almost all the talk­ing, and that is not how I want it to be. I sus­pect that before you can mas­ter the art of lis­ten­ing to God, you have to become com­fort­able with silence. And you have to be will­ing to hear what He has to say. He is God, after all, and you are you.

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