The slow grace of listening

One of the most difficult things about this summer has been the addition of several appointments a week to the schedule as well as a new membership to the YMCA. The appointments we just had to be at. The Y, well, since we're paying, we'd better go. And all of a sudden, our lives were hurried in a way that we usually haven't been.

Other people have written about this, I'm sure, but I think hurry lives on the opposite end of grace. And I particularly believe this when I think about the power of unhurried listening. This week I had a conversation with an old friend and gifted listener. It's not that he never said anything, in fact, he talked a lot. But he listened, and he asked follow up questions that were insightful and demonstrated loving care without having to say, "I lovingly care for you." And some of those follow up questions skipped back two or three topics because he had been listening with his heart and attuned to the Spirit.

The slow grace of listening is gracious precisely because listening can only occur with the investment of time. When we listen, we are handing over precious moments of our lives to another person. And when we listen, we embody the message that this other person's life, thoughts, and interests matter. Whatever would count as the spiritual opposite of fastfood and facebook, that's what listening is.

Listening is something anyone, believer or non-believer, can do. But listeners who walk in the Christ life have a bonus resource. First, we can ask for supernatural discernment to hear the heart behind the words. And second, we can ask for supernatural guidance for how and when to respond.

This world is all about love. I love chocolate cake. I love One Direction. I love community service. I love my family. All you need is love. I love you. But when it comes to this costly way of loving--listening--we're not so all about that. So the third thing that Christ in us accomplishes is that we have a model and resource for sacrificial loving.

Jesus is never too busy for her

In my head, I have a "9-5" which actually much longer than 9-5 but also my unit of productive work. I like to think that at the end of the day when my husband comes home we can share what we did during our "9-5s" My 9-5 has three domains: A) caring for L, B) taking care of the house, and C) academic writing. This week has been a major struggle because time wise A > B > C, but in my heart I was wanting C > B > A. I have a looming deadline to push out a few pages of writing and I am woefully behind. I'm one of those writers who works best when I can "get in the zone". It's not "be in the zone" it's "get in the zone". Getting there takes some doing and frequently, by the time I'm there, L is done with her nap or done with my ignoring her or just done and needing my attention. I grit my teeth and turn to her with unwritten thoughts flying through my head and disappearing into the ether. So that's me: at home but maybe not with my daughter.

In our evening readings this week, N and I read through the Gospel of Mark passing through this passage:

They came to Capernaum. When he was in the house, he asked them, "What were you arguing about on the road?" But they kept quiet because on the way they had argued about who was the greatest.

Sitting down, Jesus called the Twelve and said, "If anyone wants to be first, he must be the very last, and the servant of all."

He took a little child and had him stand among them. Taking him in his arms, he said to them, "Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me does not welcome me but the one who sent me."

~The Gospel of Mark, chapter 9

I blithely tried to put this passage out of my head, but there's no denying the drama. After a stretch of dusty travel, Jesus reveals to his disciples that he overheard them arguing about who was the greatest. They're all sheepish because they got caught, but really they do want to know how they rank because they all think they have personally sacrificed the most and achieved the most. And then Jesus upends everything. What's this stuff about being first and being last? And then he holds up one of Peter and Andrew's cousin's friend's boy and says, "Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me…"

Maybe there are mothers who know in the deepest core of their being at every moment and hour of the day that serving their child is an act of service to God, I am not one of them. More often than not, I think that applying the training I've received over the past 7 years is an act of service to God which is hindered by having to amuse and attend my drooling baby who so wants to be with me that she has crawled under my desk and is sucking on my computer cables. This passage rudely questions my evaluation of things, now doesn't it? It's not that my job as a researcher has no kingdom value, it does. It's more that when she's crawled 6ft from her play area to be near me at the computer, can I put down that work and embrace this little one fully, with an open heart because I wouldn't want to be too busy for Jesus and Jesus is certainly never too busy for her?

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This post is part of an ongoing series I am writing along with the author of On Expecting