Please Listen

When I ask you to listen-
And you start giving me advice
You have not done what I’ve asked

When I ask you to listen-
And you tell me I shouldn’t feel this way
You have trampled on my feelings

When I ask you to listen-
And you have a need to solve my problems-
My only opportunity for personal growth
You have failed me-strange, as that may seem
I am not helpless-maybe discouraged
But not helpless

When you do something for me
That I can do for myself
You can contribute to my fear and self-doubt
If you listen-I, too, can hear what I am saying

When you accept what I feel-
No matter how irrational-only then
Can I to tell you ‘why’ I feel the way I feel

Perhaps that’s why prayer works
Because God always listens-
He doesn’t give advice-He just listens

So-please just listen
And if you need to talk-wait your turn
And I, too, will listen!

By: Rita Benacquista-Stillo

Listening

God gave me the gift of "listening". Through me, He ministers to people, just by my being willing to actively listen to them. Most people don't need or want advice, they just need someone to hear them as they work through their own situations. When I start giving advice, I get in their way.
I love Marcia Willett's books. They are not "Christian" but they get to the heart of people. She seems to have lots of understanding of the human condition.
In Second Time Around, she gives a great description of what we all want from a listener!
She wondered why she never found his questions intrusive; perhaps it was because she felt that he really cared about her. When Will listened she felt that he really heard what she was saying. He thought about it and genuinely entered into her fears and ideas. So many friends listened with half an ear, her problems merely striking a chord in their own breasts so that, when she'd finished, their response was invariably, 'Oh, I know exactly what you mean. When I was. . .' and she knew that they weren't really interested in helping her but had been waiting for the opportunity to tell their own story. Or, 'I know just how you feel.' Whilst she was grateful at this attempt to sympathise she had an urge to scream, 'No you don't! How I feel is unique to me. Please respect it. Try to understand me.' Even worse was the flat, 'Tell me about it,' which Isobel always saw as a put down; as a 'I've been through all that and far worse than you could be suffering it. You can't tell me anything about pain. . . or loss. . . or loneliness. . . or being broke . . . ' or whatever it was that she had been about to communicate. 'Tell me about it' always shut her up at once. She had a fear that her own problems had been brought about by her own selfishness and that she really had no right to sympathy. To have Will to talk to was a tremendous luxury.
Only, having someone to talk to shouldn't be a luxury. It should what everyone has.
"The most basic of all human needs is the need to understand and be understood. The best way to understand people is to listen to them."  Ralph Nichols
"One friend, one person who is truly understanding, who takes the trouble to listen to us as we consider a problem, can change our whole outlook on the world."  Dr. E. H. Mayo
So, when someone you love comes by next, remember that to listen is an act of love.

Sorrow

Our little congregation had three deaths. Three funerals, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Three lovely,
beloved ladies have gone to be with God. And left us shell-shocked. Our faith keeps us afloat. Our faith makes these losses bearable. I believe they will have eternal life with our Father. Their families are stunned, too soon to be grief-stricken, but that will come. The emptiness of the days ahead. Those times, innumerable, of wanting to SEE that beloved face, to HEAR that beloved voice.
I hope I can use this time of reality to see what is important. Not necessarily urgent. But important. What things do I need/want to do for those I love? And that includes God. Where am I wasting time that could be used for those? I cannot be all things to all people but God has put specific people in my life--my husband, my children, my brother are all in the house with me. There are others God has put in my life, on purpose. There is a definite limit to how many I can minister to, so I'm sure God knows that limit--but do I? And am doing the best for that limited few? Am I spreading myself too thin? Am I underestimating how many?
I thought there was more time. I didn't spend the time I wanted and now it is too late. MY loss, not theirs. But regrets.
Can I do better?

Sweet poem to think about

Build a little fence of trust

Build a little fence of trust
... around today

Fill the space with loving deeds
and therein stay.

Look not through the sheltering bars
upon tomorrow

God will help thee bear
what comes of joy or sorrow

Something new I'm learning

Jewelry Making

It's fun. I'm learning. Wanna see??

April

We have had such a marvelously wet winter and then early warm that my roses think it is May already! Last summer was so terribly hot and dry that everything seems especially beautiful.

Once a year?

The last post was over a year ago. sigh.
Life here in Texas seems to go so fast that I can't keep up. I work hard trying to get EVERYTHING done. Then earlier this week, my body said, nope. And so, I stopped for a couple of days to catch my breath. I am haunted by things undone--cards not sent, gifts not made, visits not made. We lost a dear friend this week. He had been under hospice care for a short while. I wanted to see him again one more time. But that is one of the things undone when my body said "no more". And it will forever be too late now. I will see him in eternity. But I wanted to kiss his dear, sweet face one more time. Hold his hand.
There are so many hurting friends and loved ones. It is overwhelming. I want to help each one of them. But I'm only one. And they are many. I have neglected the most important thing I could be doing for them. I could be praying. I should be praying. Daily. I *can* do that. I *will* do that. God is big enough to take care of them all--as He does. May He help me to do what I should for the people I love so dearly.

January 1, 2011

I have not read the book, but the quote makes for much thinking.

We ought to love each other so profoundly,
serve each other so aggressively,
listen to each other so passionately,
and respond to each other so humbly,
that the kingdom of God breaks in among us.
(from The Body Broken: Embracing the Peace of Christ by Jack Reese)

Friendship

There is an old saying: "In love, there is always one who kisses, and one who offers the cheek." Sometimes I've heard it applied to friendship also. And I have had many friendships where it certainly seemed like it was true there. On the other hand, there seems to be an interchange in love and in friendship--the people involved change places. At times, one may be the one who kisses, and at other times, the roles reverse. According to need/circumstances/strength/ability. Since my mother died I have been unable to be the one who reaches out to kiss. My friends who have reached to kiss me, so to speak, have been real lifesavers! I don't know what would have happened to me.
But I believe that I am becoming more able to extend myself. My cup is filling, oh, so slowly, but it IS filling.
Thank you to all those who loved me anyway.

BF

That time came for my friend's beloved brother. He passed on into eternity. His life will reverberate for many years to come--through his beautiful wife and two daughters but also through his siblings. And beyond even that, he worked for the Helen Keller Foundation. He was brilliant at his job and many, many of the programs he set in place for the deaf/blind will go on making their lives better.
I want to post about my friend later. With pictures. But I have to say here, I have never known another family with such intelligence. There are 5 siblings and they are all overachievers. Amazing people. As a teenager, I always felt that they were so much smarter, I'm not even sure how to describe it. And they have each become adults who use their intelligence--no wasted lives.
The funeral service was moving. His family were gracious and kind in the midst of their sorrow. I will carry loving memories of my time with them all for the rest of my life. His faith was strong. He finished as much as he could for his family and his work. He comforted them. His life will give them strength in the days to come.

My mother

A long-distance friend who is near and dear to my heart asked recently about my mother. She knew the one-year anniversary of her death was approaching. Because this friend and I have not seen each other very many times--and only twice in my home state, she never got to meet my Mama. I wish they could have met. So here is a picture of my Mama. This is one of the last taken. I sometimes look at it and wonder if I should have been able to see earlier indicators of the disease that took her. She was almost 83 years old but she was full of life and active.

This photo was taken at Mama's 80th birthday party. Those folks are her siblings. She and her sister to the right are both gone on now. And her oldest brother died several years ago. Fun looking group, aren't they?

My life will never be the same without her in it. I saw her at least once a week for the past 25 years--except for a few times we were sick and missed a week here or there. This spring our roses have been exceptionally beautiful--and it is bittersweet. Every spring we carried armfuls of roses to her to share. She's not there to share with now. She is beholding more beauty than I can imagine. But that does not stop us missing her.

Deep longing

Dawna Markova's book I will not die an unlived life really touched me in so many ways. She made me think. Made me see. I always know that I am not the only one feeling a certain way. I am not the only one going through certain things. But I am the only me doing so. Each person's experience of things is unique--even though shared by millions. I can only feel and see my own life. I may be able to see that another is in the "same place" but I can't feel what she feels, or even see what she sees.

Occasionally there will be a writer who has the ability to put down on paper what she sees and feels strongly enough that it resonates with many. I felt that way about Markova.

. . . For if we have been caught up in a really compelling story, the loss of an old identity will bring us into the trough of the wave, where all we can hear are rumblings of our sacred hungers--the need to be loved, to have someone be present with us, to be acknowledged as making a difference, to know, to feel peace and satisfaction.

THAT is what I have felt this year. For I was caught up in a really compelling story--the illness, hospitalization, and death of my mother. And my loss of identity when that ended. Not only the end of that particular short story but the ending of my life as someone's child. Odd things will come to mind. Because my parents and older brother are all dead, there is no one who remembers with me many things. What I have longed for, hungered for, was to be loved, to have someone present with me, to know I made a difference.

I will not die an unlived life

by Dawna Markova. I read this book in January. I was drawn by the title. Who wants to die having never lived? The subtitle is Reclaiming Purpose and Passion.


I sometimes wonder "what now? what next?" This stage of life has not been what I had imagined it would be. The need to be busy is constant. There is always laundry. Always yard. Always. Always. Some days are so full as to be totally exhausting--but without a core, without a reason. What am I focusing on? Too often, nothing. I do what has to be done because it has to be done for life to keep going smoothly along. Shouldn't there be a joy, a sense of accomplishment, a sense of meaning?


Markova wrote:


. . .By passion I don't mean sex or desire. . . I mean the natural life energy that exists inside each of us, urging growth. A deep and natural pulse that tells us to live from the inside out, to reach in and reach out for all that is possible to know, to contribute, and to receive. I may have lost the feeling of it right now, but I am beginning to think passion exists in the relationship between things, between the self and the rest of life, between forces in opposition to each other, between polarities and paradoxes, between and beyond the river of either/or that seems to divide so much of our world.


. . . I'm sure there are fierce yearnings of heart and soul under the smooth, flat surface of the frenetic life I was living. But for now, all I feel is empty. Under a vast and constantly changing sky, I'm surrounded by a natural dormancy where passion's spark is buried and has to be searched for.


I've found my way into this dormancy by asking questions that probably only God can answer, impossible questions that flap in my mind like sheets in the wind: How do we reclaim our lost fire? How do we remember that our love really does matter? How do we retrieve our leaking souls?


Anything capable of decay is also capable of regeneration. Passion is a given when we are young. As children we burn with it, unless it gets smothered or beaten out of us. But as adults, it becomes so elusive, as if there were thin ribbony veils of music playing someplace just beyond our everyday hearing, pale and near-transparent. How do we evoke the untamable in ourselves, that part that dreams and imagines beyond what is known? How do we open fully to what life brings us, letting it lift us and carry us?


I stumble forward in a dim light, finding my way to the vitality that is passion one step at a time. I come to four doors, closed at my heart: rage, denial, inertia, and loss. I believe most of us were taught to slam these shut, turn our backs, and lean up against them in fear. But I also believe that on the other side of these doors are passageways to our brightest fire, the choice to live fully awake and alive. (emphasis mine)





I think she is onto something. Something we know but fail to practice. We've always heard that if we do not feel great sorrow, we will not be able to feel great joy. We know there are times in life that are desperately unhappy. But how many of us feel exceptional joy at other times? Do we not, at those times, hold back a little? Afraid to feel that joy fully and completely? Various reasons, I think, superstition--if I am that joyful won't it invite catastrophe? Guilt--I don't deserve this kind of joy--I have done this or that or NOT done this or that. Fear--if I allow myself to feel so much joy, how horrible will be the aftermath. And more, as people are so varied.




I read. I read. Sometimes I think. But feeling. Well, that is not something I am comfortable with.

Very funny

Lest you think I am not having a good time ever. . .
Once a month my Daddy's family gathers for a potluck at one of his siblings' homes. Several of the cousins are also gathering with the siblings--for years it was our parents' thing. We always have a wonderful time--there are LOTS of stories to relive and things to laugh about. Several of us had quite exciting times as children--our own children lived highly restricted lives because WE knew too much!!
This past weekend--it is always the first Saturday of the month--one cousin asked if I remembered "smoking monkeys". I had totally forgotten them! They were toys. Came with little paper "cigarettes" which you lit with a match (yes, we had matches and most of us carried pocket knives too), then blew out the flame and the cigarette would smolder away. Very, very funny. I loved those crazy toys.
That particular cousin's husband came over and sat down and we asked, do you remember "smoking monkeys"?? And he said he didn't ever have one but he saw one. And we said which kind, how big was it?? He looked funny and said it was normal-sized!!
He had actually seen a REAL LIVE monkey that smoked real cigarettes!!! Cracked us up.
Someday we're going to hurt ourselves laughing.
Smoking monkey at eBay--a completed auction.

Books read so far in 2010

My reading has tended toward "light". I find it difficult to concentrate for very long periods. And there has just been a "heaviness" that makes "light" reading more inviting.
In January:
1. Anecdotes of Destiny and Ehrengard by Isak Dinesen. I enjoyed her stories. I had not read anything by her for years and years.
2. Elizabeth and Her German Garden by Elizabeth von Arnim. Very good, I thought. My favorite of hers is still Enchanted April.
Then February was a busier reading month:
Several re-reads by Rosamunde Pilcher. I love her books, actually, I love her characters!
3. The Empty House
4. Another View
5. The Shell Seekers
6. September.
7.Then I will not die an unlived life by Dawna Markova. You'll be seeing more posts about this one.
March was even a heavier reading month, which is good as April is very light so far!
8. Old Books in the Old World by Rostenberg and Stern. These are fun. These women took trips to England and/or Europe every year for book-buying trips for their NY store. It is very interesting to read their accounts of how Europe and GB were doing after WWII and also of the various bookdealers they dealt with.
Two more Pilcher--
9. End of Summer and
10. Under Gemini
11. Peripheral Visions by Phyllis Theroux. A collection of essays/columns. She has a great way of looking at things. Reminds me some of Phyllis McGinley.
12. No! I don't want to join a book club. by Virginia Ironsides. Hilarious. Written as the diary of a woman turning 60. Bits I could have easily done without but overall, so many things I could identify with. The character is engaging. The author knows what she is writing about!
13. The Red Hat Club by Haywood Smith. Another funny, older-woman book. But this is about a group of women who have been friends for MANY YEARS. I will likely do a post on their "traditions" and how they have managed to stay friends and support one another through so many changes. Again, bits I could have done without but a light, funny read with that underlying "friendship is important" theme.

Swing wide

by Dawna Markova



Let us swing wide all the doors and windows

of our hearts on their rusty hinges

so we may learn how to open in love.



Let us see the light in the other and honor it

so we may lift one another on our shoulders

and carry each other along



Let holiness move in us

so we may pay attention to its small voice

and give ourselves fully with both hands.

Dawna Markova's poem

I will not die an unlived life.
I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,
to make me less afraid,
more accessible;
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance,
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.

One year later

We are into the final two months. One year ago, this week, my little Mama entered the hospital--never to go home again. Instead she went Home to be with God. It has been a hard year. And this has been a hard week. I find it difficult to reach out to others to share my pain and sorrow. I find it difficult to write anything--emails, notes, whatever.
We have friends who are now going through their own pre-losses--parents with Alzheimer's, broken hips, emphysema, so many things go wrong as we age. My dearest friend from high school (BF, doncha know?) is taking leave of one of her brothers. He is young, only 60, but with cancer. This friend has already lost both her parents. Life is so difficult at times. She is accepting of this loss but I know she is sad and will be sad for a long time to come.
I have given myself a year of mourning. A year when I would not expect too much of myself. What will it be like when the year is over? I don't know. I do hope I will be able to do more for others. To be able to take on new tasks. I overwhelm fairly easily right now. Like trying to swim but being unable to tow anything or anyone else. Perhaps my strength will return.

Olympic skater

I was so moved by this. I wept as I read this article. My heart aches for this young woman.
"Not 48 hours after she lost her mother, Therese, to a heart attack, Rochette refused to let grief derail their shared dream of skating here. With her father, Normand, overcome with emotion as he watched from the stands, Rochette sailed through a courageous program, cleanly landing all of her jumps and leaving the skating world in awe of her strength."