job description: part 1

roughly two months ago, i confessed to a group of colleagues that i used to think i was a good listener until i realized that i just didn't talk.

my confession elicited major laughter. it surprised me. i wasn't trying to be funny and then i experienced the joy of being naturally funny. i tried not to pride myself in the moment but simply move on. as you can tell, i still pride myself in the moment.

anyway, yes, not talking is not the same as listening well. listening well is something i've experienced improvement in since january. honestly. it's this interesting thing where you actually pay attention not just to what someone's saying but to what they're not saying and how they're saying what they're not saying. and it's really not that complex when it transpires. one of the trickiest parts is not saying anything in response. i know right? *mind blown* how in the world do you not respond? that's like not participating in the conversation. well, you see, it's not really a conversation that we're used to. it's not the sort where i hear what you're saying long enough to figure out what i'm going to say and how to slip it in nicely so that it seems as if i truly care to make that transition to my own point.

this listening is new and selfless...that's why it's so new. in order to do it well, i have to remove my "fix it" hat, the one not only known by men, btw. i take that off because if i don't, i get frustrated which hinders listening all the more. you see, a great percentage of these true listening conversations involve issues that i can't fix, stuff i have zero answers for. my childhood world of B&W is no longer helpful because the answers enclosed in that packet don't always get at the core.

the answer is not, "do this, " but "unpack this" and unpacking during one's adult years is multilayered. some of what you unpack must inevitably be laundered and that's a process all its own. perhaps some are dry clean only. other pieces may need to be thrown away--they've seen better days. still other items need to be returned to their rightful owner, emptied of tissue, refilled, wrapped up...unpacking is a necessary chore.

one should really unpack before heading out on another trip.

i've been asked not to save you but to help you unpack. oy.


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this is part of a series on being savior. find more like it here.

on being a savior

The following posts are all dedicated to the students I've worked with through the years, from Lacombe, Alberta, to Knoxville, Tennessee and every other place in between.

#1: spare an angel

#2: eye of the tiger

#3: if i could

#4: doubting thomas

#5: fix you

job description: part 1

#5

I used to think I had to save you.

It was the standard setup. You came to me with your stuff and I, the "all-knowing," would listen and advise. It's the stuff of movies and ministry fairytales. But you were already aware enough to know the answers and to tell me when my answers were off base.

So I often wondered why you came, why you kept making the time for me to hear you, if I couldn't heal you. And I wanted to dig deeper, to pry off more layers. But I didn't. Because I was sure I wouldn't be able to fix you. And somewhere in all that messiness of insecurity, I stopped taking time to make time so that we could talk. I got scared. If only I had let you be. If only I had...


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this is part of a series on being savior. find more like it here.

#4

I used to think I had to save you.

And then we had an unexpected meeting. The hug, the joy that ensued reminded me that we're on equal footing. Yes, we occupy different roles and yes, our responsibilities to each other differ. Yet we walk together.

If only I'd experienced more joy with you. We did experience grief together. Yours was the first hug to greet me, the first revelation of our equal footing or, rather, the first within the context of our chaplain-student context. Your hug let me know that I could feel, too. But I was too busy making sure everyone else was alright...from a distance...at that stage I was still too jaded to get any closer.


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this is part of a series on being savior. find more like it here.

#3

I used to think I had to save you.

I made absolutely zero progress. I quit early on you. Wish I could remember how freeing that is each time I get back to this unhealthy space. But with you things were different. I'd already grown up a lot by the time you came along. By the time we hashed it out, I could more readily recall this truth: I shouldn't spend time defending myself. If I have to do that then I've got other, bigger, fish to fry. And over the years, I've been frying away bit by bit. Frying away my insecurities, my need to be validated by you.

So today I'm not so needy, not so quick to play savior. Because all lower-case saving is simply a play.


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this is part of a series on being savior. find more like it here.

#2

I used to think I had to save you.

So when you walked into my office and invited me out for a late night coffee shop run, I became unsure of my place. I never knew exactly how to respond to your maturity and to your love. You had a much stronger hold on your emotions than I did. That didn't intimidate me. I was grateful. I knew you could be a safe space. And you were.

So I sat in your apartment one evening and almost cried. If we could go back to that moment, I'd bawl my eyes out. The release would have been so good. I allowed myself to be there for you on the pedestrian walkway but I didn't know how to let you be there for me.

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this is part of a series on being savior. find more like it here.

#1

I used to think I had to save you.

Perhaps that began the morning your basketball coaches knocked on our classroom door, asking to speak with me.

Was this normal? I didn't know quite how to respond. They were tall, the senior of which wore a dark velour sweatsuit.

That afternoon I asked Tom for an "off the record conversation." Taking his backpack off a chair, he gave me permission to begin. I somewhat vented and almost cried. Was that morning's visit a threat to do all I can to help your bad grades so that you, star player, could keep scoring? And was that when I began my savior complex? Is that when the tears began to flow at night as I wondered what more I could do to make your life better?

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this is part of a series on being savior. find more like it here.