listening

I had always thought I was a good listener. I had classes on it in college for goodness sake. I got graded on listening. What?! Yes. Graded on my listening. Sitting in a circle with two desks facing each other in the center. Two by two we would practice our reflective listening, non-verbal and minimal verbal encouragement, reframing, summarizing, and redirecting skills only to have them critiqued by our peers and the professor.

My assignment one day was to nod and grunt "Mu-Hum," to my classmate. I was not supposed to ask questions. I was not supposed to interject my thoughts. Nod. Make eye contact and nod.

I ended up making her cry.

She told me and the whole class through watery eyes all about her fears of the future and her dysfunctional and non-supportive home life. Wiping her eyes she laid out her soul, vulnerable and brave before our little social work class.

And all I had done was nod my head.

After class, in the hallway, she pulled me to the side and apologized. "I don't know what happened to me in there. I think I just really needed someone to listen to me." It was right about there that I decided maybe I would pin up "compassion" and "good listener" on my bulletin board of spiritual gifts.

This listener's focus has come in handy many times, helping my college freshmen through relationship drama and high school girls through parental woes, talking to teens about their unplanned pregnancies, and working in a psychiatric emergency room. I've needed the gift of silence more times than I can count. To "allow the tension of silence to compel them to share the truth" my Psychology professor would say.

Yet somehow, I forgot to listen to the voice that was crying the loudest. My body. No it doesn't speak audibly, but for years my poor aching body has been screaming at me that something was not right. I used to shut her up with Mountain Dew and Pop-Tarts. Pump her with sugar and caffeine to get through one traumatic shift at the hospital after another. Ignore her cries of pain and pretend I was like everyone else. Complete the high ropes course, climb the rock, swing from the trees. Shoot her choc-full of fear and adrenaline to study harder, perfect that paper, ace that test. Drag her lifeless through one more church meeting, one more bible-study, worship practice, youth group, nursery duty, small group, mentor meeting. Uuugh.

My body needed someone to listen to her. Slow down and allow the answers of truth to rush into the silence that space creates.

I'm not there yet. But I'm learning. I need more sleep than most people. I need a simple schedule. I need good food that won't make me sick. I need a lower stress job. I need stretches and heat packs. I have to learn that there are some things I can't do. I've got to remember that I'm not like everyone else. I'm me. I'm special. And that's okay.

So the nodding of my head can be directed towards myself. My own version of the sound of one hand hand clapping. And let the truth of listening to my self and my body first, rush into the tension of silence. And in that silence, find my voice.