The HeArt of Listening
It wasn’t my eyesight that was corrected at the eye doctor’s but my insight. Put another way; I went to an eye doctor and my hearing got adjusted. It’s true; just over 20 years ago I entered the offices of an ophthalmologist and a big part of me — mostly involving my ears — never has been quite the same since. And it all happened in the waiting room. I routinely gave my name to the receptionist, took my seat among all the silent strangers, and picked up the closest unfamiliar magazine. (Why read one I have at home?) I started reading an unremarkable story that got so remarkable that when they said “Fulcher, the doctor will see you now” I almost stuffed the magazine into my coat pocket. What if when I’m done here I find the magazine in other hands and I’ll never know what happened? After the exam, I almost burst through the door to the magazines strewn on the waiting room table to devour the rest of the story — even dilated and blurry-eyed as I was. What I read that day started a slow reform in my life that continues to this day.
It Was a Phone Call and a Letter
I risk the possibility you’ll brush aside what I’m saying here with a ho-hum — and that’s certainly your due — but I share here what was for me the catalyst for a personal paradigm shift. Though I don’t remember what magazine it was or remember ever seeing the author’s name, it remains a rare day since that I haven’t at least once thought of the story that writer told. She and her family had just returned from a rather lengthy visit with her mother (or was it her mother-in-law?). Anyway, the long trip home that was usually uneventful turned into an almost unbelievable adventure which she describes in detail. The following day her mother phoned to see if they had arrived home safely, and also to tell of some amazing things that had occurred in her life since the family had pulled out of her driveway the day before. Then she began telling her story. This magazine writer said: That’s when it struck me to do something that’s not me — something I’ve never done before. It was a deliberate decision. Break. (That’s when the eye receptionist called my name.)
The Letter (and the rest of the story)
What the writer did was listen to her mother’s story, and — as difficult as it was — said nothing about the action-packed trip home her family had experienced. There would be time enough for that later. A few days after that phone conversation she received a very short note from her mother with essentially these words: I cannot tell you how much it meant to me that you listened to my story when I called — without interruption. I know you had much to say that you didn’t. It made me feel as though I really mattered. I felt loved. I won’t forget it. Thank you so much! Love, Mom. The author went on to say the incident had so impacted her that she was driven to write this story as a confession and, hopefully, a wake-up call for others.
Spooked by That Story
I was convicted — and awakened. She was spot on. It seems my listening skills — to which I was blind — consisted of hearing another’s story just long enough to be reminded to tell my similar more enticing story that was sure to impress. What a creep! Those who know me will think I’m a hypocrite. I probably deserve that title too, because, you see — after 20 years — I’m still a work in progress. But, I’m better than I was.
The Art Part
Is it wrong to share our stories? No way! The art is putting ourselves in the other’s shoes to see if what we’re about to say will or will not slight what they’re saying. Know, though, this goes against the flow — i.e. if everybody followed these guidelines social media might go kaput overnight. That industry does not thrive on people aching to listen. And art takes effort. I remember it happening more than once when I was having a serious talk with our teen daughter in the era of Jimi Hendrix, Aerosmith, and Led Zeppelin. I would turn the music off. She, very serious, would say, “Dad, I can’t hear you. Please turn the music back on.” Pastor and author Frederick Buechner brings up a listening challenge for church people: Words wear out after a while, especially religious words. We’ve said them so many times. We’ve listened to them so often. They are like voices we know so well we no longer hear them. And speaking of God-matters, what we do for our livelihood results from listening deep down to our Maker. Vocation comes from the Latin vocare (to call).
The Heart Part
Recently I heard a marriage counselor say the greatest need in a marriage is attentiveness — listening with your heart, your mind, your soul, as well as your ears. Listening to one you’ve dated for a month is one thing. Listening to that same one after 50 years of marriage is another. I still pause and ponder — as I think you will too — every time I read these words of author Timothy Dudley Smith that also capture the essence of this page. Love is not so much a matter of being willing to listen as of wanting to hear.