Aj Schwanz

Once when I was tired of listening to a roommate in anxt, I said the above sentence.  Which was partially true:  my sight is fairly bad, my hearing’s not all that great, and I do rely a bit on lip/facial expression reading.  But mostly I wanted to see if she was really seeking advice or wanting to rant:  if she was seeking advice, she’d hear what I said and call me on it.  Her response:  “Oh”, and walked away, probably to find the next roommate to listen to her plight.

It’s so easy not to listen, especially to something yelling right in front of your face.  Today I found myself reading my Bible with furrowed brow and serious determination at breakfast.  Why?  When I pulled my head up, I found my youngest son was yowling at the top of his lungs, and I really wanted not to hear him.  I couldn’t fix his problem (wanting up) without creating a problem of my own (wanting to eat breakfast without wrestling utensils away from a grabby grabber).  So I stopped listening.

I’m reading the book “How to Talk So Your Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk”, which has come highly recommended, even by the circulation assistant who checked me out at the library.  “Oh, this is by my favorite child development specialist.”  Good stuff.

The first chapter talks about helping children deal with their feelings.  They recommend four options:

1. I can listen quietly and attentively.
2. I can acknowledge their feelings with a word:  “oh . . . mmm . . . I see . . .”
3. I can give that feeling a name:  “That sounds frustrating!”
4. I can give the child his wishes in fantasy:  “I wish I could make the banana ripe for you right now!”

All feelings can be accepted.  Certain actions must be limited.  “I can see how angry you are at your brother.  Tell him what you awnt with words, not fists.”

At first it sounded a little silly.  But then thinking about if the roles were reversed, it made sense.  When I’m feeling upset, no matter how irrational it may be - the feeling is there.  When it’s denied, negated, or attempted to be fixed, that can make me focus more on the feeling than the issue and also feel looked down on, invalidated, or guilty that I have such feelings. But allowing it to run its course, being given space and permission to name and experience the feeling, well, that helps me move on and respond hopefully in a helpful way.

I wonder what it would be like if adults helped adults deal with their feelings by the above steps?  I wonder what it would be like if we could sit with the intensity or the uncomfortableness it might bring about.  Abel made me uncomfortable this morning with his feelings of wants, and I ignored him:  how many times do I do that with my F/friends?  Maybe that’s a mark of true community:  being able to sit in the midst of the tension, the squishy muck, but with boundaries (no fists :)).

I wonder what it would be like to somewhat pray keeping those postures in mind.  I know:  silly to think of granting God His wishes in fantasy.  But maybe . . . responding to that desire God has placed in my heart . . . and saying, “Gosh, I wish I could grant this for you, and here’s how I’d do it!” might open some leadings . . . create space for imaginative responses, and maybe one that God would say, “Yeah, that’d be awesome!  Now, go get your contacts on, for Pete’s sake!”