The Art of Listening
The Art of Listening by debgrant
A piece of broken wood, a poem, a card created a thread that is part of my tapestry of what I have learned and am learning.
Broken wood
I have kept this broken piece of mahogany for decades because it still teaches me. An early and necessary lesson in woodcraft is to listen to the wood. It speaks a unique language. Its family tree of origin, age, moisture, rings, invading creatures, droughts, fires, hardness, knots, and grain. This piece was the only recognizable part of a larger project that shattered suddenly under the assault of the carving tool in my hand. I had not listened to the wood. The design was wrong for it. I ignored the grain. I was too impatient to make small moves. I listen…better…now, not perfectly but better.
A Poem
I happened upon this poem on listening recently.
How To Listen by Joyce Sutphen
Tilt your head slightly to one side and lift
your eyebrows expectantly. Ask questions.
Delve into the subject at hand or let
things come randomly. Don't expect answers.
Forget everything you've ever done.
Make no comparisons. Simply listen.
Listen with your eyes, as if the story
you are hearing is happening right now.
Listen without blinking, as if a move
might frighten the truth away forever.
Don't attempt to copy anything down.
Don't bring a camera or a recorder.
This is your chance to listen carefully.
Your whole life might depend on what you hear.
Over the course of my career as campus minister/parish pastor, the moments I pleaded the most for God’s help were the times I was in private conversation. In those intimate moments when someone was in need of my help, I came face to face with my own inadequacy to the task. My breathless prayer often included a plea to help me hear what was important, to ask good questions, to not say anything dumb or worse, harmful, to find a way to honor their decision to talk with me with something resembling God’s grace.
I never stopped needing God’s help. Listening is an art to be learned and a muscle to be intentionally flexed. There were plenty of occasions in which I dismissed what I learned and was left with shattered pieces whose only hope was in forgiveness.
A Card
I had dinner recently with a friend from campus ministry days. We hadn’t seen each other in more than a decade. It was a glorious conversation. I was keenly aware I was on the receiving end of a person who understands the art of listening. As the poem indicated, he listened carefully, like for that singular moment in time his life depended on it. He asked me about the cards I had been sending to folks recently, and why it was important to me. Yesterday, I got this card from him. Nice stationery, a simple design, his handwriting, a few words that told a story of a recent trip with his wife to a favorite place, a favorite shop, and a wish to evoke my smile. It did. He listened. He spoke a piece of my language. He had his own experience with the power of a note, especially in an age of electronic communication. The old school art of a handwritten note on nice paper with a little design - the human energy of a kind friend.
I am convinced that listening is an art. One that I will never master but will always practice as best I can.
I hope you have and will encounter practitioners of this most needed art. I hope you are one.
Peace,
debgrant