Bad Listener

I think that you can learn a lot about people on a first date. It’s in those magical and often humiliating moments, that people reveal their true selves. Of course, I’ll be the first to admit it; I always hope that my first date self will be a more flawless, beautiful, interesting and witty version of the regular, everyday, give that girl a tic-tac Heather. But no matter how hard I try, my imperfections are doomed to follow me. I remember one date very vividly. I sat in the pizza booth, sipping my water, trying desperately to be cute and charming. I talked about my classes and my friends and how I love to write. That conversation led to the topic of books. “What kinds of books do you like to read, Heather?” he asked. I spouted off a few of my favorites, and then added, “But I like to write more than I like to read. I always have.” Honest answer. Total mistake. Flaw escape. My date glanced down at his food and then mumbled with a smile, “That’s probably because you like to talk more than you like to listen.” Ouch.

Of course, I don’t think that I’m a bad person for talking too much, and I don’t really care what that dude thinks. He’s long gone, thank goodness! But I have to confess: he was right. I do have a problem with listening, and that’s not okay. I’m trying to get better at listening, at not cutting people off mid-sentence, at forcing my own thoughts to slow down. I’m trying.

And although listening is one of my obvious issues, sometimes I wonder if maybe it’s not so much a problem with listening as a problem with silence. The truth is, I hate silence. I fill it with words because it makes me uncomfortable. It makes me feel alone. Last weekend I made my annual trek to Rockford, Illinois to visit my good friend, Lindsey. (Let me just say that I love that girl.) We packed our weekend full of activity: exploring downtown Madison, battling her friends in Euchre, chatting over coffee and stomping around the county fairground with her parents.

When it came time to leave, I hugged Lindsey goodbye, hopped into my car and immediately turned on the radio. It stayed on the whole ride home. Noise. Even if I wasn’t really listening to anything, the radio stayed on. Avoiding the silence. When I wasn’t listening to the radio full blast, I was talking on the phone, only to be informed (ironically) that I “use filler words whenever there is a lull in conversation.” Awesome. Point taken.

Sometimes I wonder if God laughs at me. I wonder if He hears my frantic prayers and rambling, worried thoughts. I wonder if He listens patiently for a while and then whispers, “Heather, breathe. Chill out.” He probably says things like that to me all the time but I am too busy talking to hear Him. I’m too busy avoiding the silence. I’m too busy spouting out my own words instead of allowing His thoughts become my own. I wonder how many words from God I’ve missed because I wouldn’t close my mouth.

I need to be a better listener. I need to be better at dwelling in silence. I just wish it wasn’t so difficult.

Side note: In honor of practicing silence I will be posting a series of six devotional entries, the first of which will talk about the discipline of silence and solitude. These are excerpts from a devotional booklet I published for the Westside Women last spring! Coming soon.