The Aspiration to Listen

Thirty minutes down, 49.5 hours to go. . . 

Flashback and reassurance that we probably will survive. 

One photo in Bill's black and white film series "Crazy Cat Lady."

If your neighbor has a gas leak, it's comforting to know that the Eagan fire department will park their truck in your driveway several hours until it's shut off. 

As I mentioned earlier, I’ve been coming up with my own ten rules/guidelines/ideas for life, like those of Jordon Peterson and Gretchen Rubin. I wrote about the first one already. It was to make prayer my first course of action. The first rule was to pray first. 

Before I can write more about my ten things, I feel the need to define exactly what they are. What should I really call them? “Rules” doesn’t seem right, there isn’t a self-induced punishment when I break them. It seems as though the word “commandments” is already taken, and anyway, I’m not quite that strong. 

Still, I needed a label for my efforts so I put some thought as to what I want them to represent. They are less formal than a code. They are more defined than hopes. Guidelines are wishy-washy. 

I finally found it. 

They are ten ideas that I aspire to. They are my aspirations. Siri says: 

Aspirations
Noun
1.     Hope or ambitions of achieving something
2.     The action or process of drawing breath
3.     The action of pronouncing a sound with an exhalation of breath

I really like that. I fancy myself a high-achiever so the hope or ambition to achieve something is right up my alley. And drawing breath and exhaling are also great ways to live. 

Now that we have our labels, I want to tell you that my second aspiration actually is. . . 

The Aspiration to Listen. 

Easier said than done. And this might be a long road. 

My grandma Hope was a good listener. Maybe it was easier back then, with the long spirally phone cord. She would sit at the kitchen table, ear to the beige receiver and just listen. She even took notes on a little dime store notepad. 

Back to me. . .somewhere around the eighth year of having kids in the house I think I stopped being such a good listener. It was to an extent, self-preservation. I had two extremely verbal children. We used terms like motor mouthing and broadcast mode. It seemed like they never stopped talking. In order to have a thought of my own, I had to occasionally tune them out. I became pretty proficient at it. They could be talking and I could be making a grocery list in my head or lesson plans or balancing my checking account. 

Then came the technology. It started with Bill and the Blackberry phone. Checking email in the kitchen. Then in 2009 came my iPhone. Scrolling Facebook waiting in the school pick-up line. Texts lighting up the nightstand. 

Things changed even before that, when long distance rates went extinct. Now we can talk to people far away and it doesn’t cost extra money. Why not do dishes, or bring in the groceries from the car or scoop the cat litter while talking on the phone? Long drive? Time to catch up with loved ones. I guess that's good and bad. 

Back when Calvin was in the fourth grade, Mrs. Sipe told me at conferences that he had a lot to say. I laughed in agreement. But then she added. . . and he deserves to be listened to. It was not directed at me but nonetheless I felt convicted. Blah blah blah trains blah blah blah subway blah blah blah light rail. Still, I tried to tune in to his broadcast mode a little better.

Last summer two of my dear ones told me separately that they didn’t feel like I was listening. Again, convicting. I decided to work on it. 

Maybe it’s partially in the timing. Even while I’m writing this my attention is requested. Most moms don’t have an office with a door. We are trying to do our stuff in the great rooms of the house with all the comings and goings. That’s a blessing and a curse, but mostly a blessing. Children could be sequestered in their rooms. I’m glad we hang out together, even when I lose a little mental space. 

In spite of the distractions of life, and my self-criticism there are three places where I am my best listener. 

The first one? Piano practice. That’s one of the times when the good stuff comes up. God bless the intimacy of piano practice. A time set aside, one on one, when our kids know we will be there, a captive audience. Sometimes you have to set aside the scales, chords and arpeggios and just listen. 

The car is the second great place to listen. The one-hour drive to piano lessons on Mondays with Calvin was a sacred time for me. He would introduce me to his newest music, chat about the week and all the Calvin stuff. No more broadcast mode. . . just heart to heart. Now I have daily school pick-up with Mary. I rearranged my afternoon teaching so I could pick her up from Eastview almost every day. I’m still learning when to ask questions and when to just be still, but I’m trying. The car is great spouse listening time too. On family car trips Bill and I let the kids watch more videos than we would at home, because those hours with kids in headphones gave us a lot of time to chat. 

Third and last, the time when the most good stuff comes up? Late at night—that’s anytime past 9:30 for me. It could be post marching band or post musical or post homecoming dance. The not-quite-an-adult flops down at the foot of our bed right when I’m drifting off to sleep and starts in about the ups and downs that not-quite-grown-ups are made of. Highs and lows of the day. Dates and dreams. I take my ear plugs back out and put my glasses back on. Sleep never mattered much anyway. These are the good old days. 

I guess it’s not completely broken, I do know how to listen, but I could still do better. I don’t have all the answers. I want to be more like grandma Hope. I want to be a better listener. I don’t blame technology, the same phone that distracts us keeps us close. It’s mostly about habits. So, holding up the first aspiration of praying first, here is my prayer:

Lord,

You listen to the prayers of all of us all the time. There are millions of us all motor mouthing and broadcasting at the same time and you don’t tune anyone out. You are the best listener. Help me to be a better listener. Shut down my mental voices when real people are actually talking to me. Help me manage my technology with self-control. Help me show my love for others by being truly present to them. And if I need some dime store notebooks, supply those as well. 

Amen