How many hours every day do we spend in listening?
Mothers rank high on the list for this occupation, so do teachers and students, salesmen, phone solicitors, store clerks, secretaries, librarians, and friends.
But, what does it mean to listen? And how much real listening is taking place?
If you mention politics to my husband, he is at once all ears; movies to my daughter and son-in-law, books and poetry to my sisters and me. And if I overhear a conversation about British sports cars, even among men, I find myself sidling closer, listening intently for bits and snatches I can catch.
Mothers talking about children, comparing notes, bragging a little; surely every woman perks up at that. But are we really listening or, while the other woman says her bit about when little Sally first started walking, are we thinking how much more quickly our own John and Mary, and even little Jennie, were on their feet?
If we don't really hear what is being said to us (perhaps the barest gist of the surface meaning, so we can make some sort of reply) we are surely not hearing what has not been said. And the unspoken behind the words is an important part of what the speaker is trying to communicate.
When we have our mind on something else and only pretend to be listening, we are cheating ourselves and making a very poor showing.
I consistently note in social or family groups, where several people or more are gathered, conversation is a staccato thing that stops and starts and trips over itself, and many of us, fired with enthusiasm for what we cannot wait to say, cut off another, more timid, one who has begun to speak. I watch. I see that frustrated disappointment flicker across the face of the person who is now silenced, before he had fairly begun. And I have my own private little exercise: as soon as possible, when the next lull takes place, I say (brightly), "Mary, or Tom, what was that you were starting to say?"
I am always amply rewarded by an expression, however fleeting, of gratitude and relief.
From time to time, each one of us really needs to talk. And, when we need to talk — we need to be listened to.
Paul Tillich said, "The first duty of love is to listen."
I remember how my mother taught my sister and me to listen and, therefore, care for the older people in our mission field branch. Our teenage friends, unhampered by parental directive, would discreetly melt away when they saw one of the old men or women coming slowly toward them. But we held our ground, sighed under our breath, but smiled brightly — then stood there and listened. Our mother impressed upon us the fact that people of culture who claim to care, are polite and thoughtful. Period. If you are restless or bored, listen harder. Give of yourself. Feel compassion for this lonely person who wants only a bit of kindness and a few minutes of time from you.
It worked. We took an inner pride or, actually, satisfaction in going the extra mile, and we developed tenderness toward these old people and the stories, which became more and more interesting as we learned to listen to them as they were slowly and methodically told.
If we want to be a listener, we need to learn how to listen to feelings, as well as words. When our oldest daughter, Heather, was 12 years old, she would come and perch at the foot of our bed and talk and talk — unfolding all the concerns, frustrations and complexities that were coming into her young life. At first my husband and I tried to "help," give her tender, wise counsel, thinking that was what she wanted. Not so. She simply needed to express herself to us, knowing that we cared and would listen to her. So it was our role to listen in order to uphold and understand, not necessarily to worry about a reply.
"Gentlemen, listen to me slowly," Samuel Goldwyn urged. When we stop, clear our minds, and truly pay attention — in other words, sincerely listen — what do we hear?
Sometimes we hear fear and uncertainty, and an almost childlike need to be accepted and validated. Sometimes we hear little bits of wisdom, crystal clear, where we least expected them. Sometimes we hear wonder and the wisdom of a soul who can teach and lift us. Sometimes we hear simply laughter and delight.
Always, if we listen for what is there, we hear the expressions of another soul. And that kind of hearing lifts us out of the narrowness of self. It lights our own awareness of what we are — and of what we might desire to say to the world.
When we pray, we talk to our Heavenly Father; when we meditate, we listen. How much that is being spoken to us will we miss if we fail in that listening — if we do not feel the love and yearning behind the "unspoken words" which the Spirit is sending to us?
"It is the privilege of wisdom to listen," wrote Oliver Wendell Holmes.
Let us cultivate "ears to listen" and hearts to hear and hold dear.