listeningandwaiting

I had two wonderful Grandmothers. They could not have been more different. Every afternoon my city Grandmother changed into a silk dress, with a cameo brooch necklace, while my country Grandmother, a farmer's wife, was probably churning butter. Why am I telling you this? I have not thought about the Grandmothers for many years. Now I realize both these women taught me in their own way much about acceptance, listening and waiting. Both were nonjudgemental, gave advice only when asked, and ever as a child made you feel heard. My earliest teachers were my grandmothers.

The Listening Hearts of Lepers

As a newly married woman living and working in a leprosy settlement in Nigeria, I met some other special women. I was very lonely and terribly homesick and one day wandered into a section of the village where a group of women known as 'burnt-out cases' lived. They contracted leprosy before there was any treatment and were left with the worst deformities. Some had no noses, many had stumps for hands or feet, some walked around on all fours supported just by stumps. Yet it did not take long to realize that their spirit of acceptance and their listening hearts shone through all this. None of them spoke or understood English, yet they graciously welcomed me and I felt understood, I realized that there are many ways of listening. I was filled with life and joy just sitting in the shade with them and listening with our silences, hearts and senses. Even as I remember today I am filled with gratitude and love.

So Much To Do

For many years as a mother, I would listen, hear and then feel I had to 'fix it'. I attempted to control, and at times felt the world was on my shoulders. There was so much to be done, so many injustices to address, wrongs to right. I became a doer and experienced a sense of quiet desperation - the children! the house! my relationship with my spouse! the local community! the global community! - so much to do, so little time to do it. I often felt overwhelmed and resentful. "Why do I have to try and fix everyone's hurts and problems?" The answer, of course, was I did not have to. A priest friend to whom I confided my frustrations challenged me to start praying. To take time out, be less action-oriented and pray. To listen with my heart to the gentle voice of the Spirit speaking deep within, whose voice is like water dropping on a sponge not crashing on rock. To hear, one had to 'be still and know that I am God'. It became clear that as I listened to that small, still voice of the Spirit and quietly waited, I was moved towards where I should be involved. A great weight was lifted off my shoulders and handed to a loving God. Never again would I feel so burdened. With a peaceful heart I could say, "Here I am Lord, do with me what you will," and wait to be shown.

Reminded of Mary

My trail of life has had many interesting twists and turns and has led to many unexpected places. My times of listening and waiting often highlight my powerlessness, my need for a deep trust and acceptance. I often think of Mary at the Annunciation at these times. Her Yes and then her moving into the uncertainty of her answer. As a chaplain in Palliative Care I was powerless to fix but able to listen, with or without words. To enter the pain, to share the grief and watch God's
grace work in the acceptance of approaching death. To sit in Emergency and feel utterly powerless as I listened and waited with parents whose only son was fighting for life after a hit and run accident, as they said over and over, "Why? Danny is such a good son." At a time like this I was reminded of Mary at the foot of the cross, listening to Jesus' laboured breathing and waiting for him to die.

I Am Where I Should Be

I don't live in the city anymore, but in a small town in Northwestern Ontario. Much of my past four years has been spent in communities north of the road system with the First Nations people, the Ojibway and Cree. There has been much sadness and tragedy in their lives. Many a time I have sat with the families of suicide victims. I have felt helpless and completely powerless and often asked myself, "What am I doing here? I don't belong here. Am I being intrusive? Should I leave?" Yet each time I know I am where I should be, and the fact that I am an older woman makes it even more important that I stay. If someone talks, you sit still and listen, if someone holds your hand or weeps on your shoulder, these are silent words. Listen, enter into the pain and wait. All listening is not painful, however. I have celebrated, heard stories of life and love and adventure and been involved in community feasts and ceremonies. I have been in awe of how these people rise above their misfortunes. I have spent many occasions on the telephone with someone who just needed a listening ear. Often I will add nothing to the conversation other than the odd eh! eh! and just as suddenly as it started the call will end with "Meegwetch, (thank you), that was very helpful, I feel much better now," It might be months before we speak again.

A God Who Waits

Many places in Scripture give us examples of God adopting an accepting, listening and waiting stance with the people, for example Is. 65:1-3: I "I said, 'I am here, I am here,' to a nation that did not invoke my name." When I recognize that I am once again trying to solve the problems of the world I know that I have not been praying and need once more to turn in prayer to a listening Creator and say again, "Here I am Lord, do with me what you will," and wait patiently for the answer.