I have to admit that for about two months this summer I was under the impression that my little son was a little odd. Out of the blue he started pointing to unfamiliar objects and yelling, “At dat”. This sounded just like his word for hot dog and I had some strong concerns about a child who thought every new item in his world was a hot dog. I found myself saying fifty times a day, “Yes, I know you like hot dogs”, but I was getting worried. I don’t know why it took me so long, but I finally figured he wasn’t saying hot dog at all, he was asking, “What’s that?” The poor kid! All this time I had thought he was going to have some serious trouble communicating, but it was ME that was being a terrible listener. Once we got that miscommunication figured out he’s had a bit of a language explosion. I still feel bad that for two months I reinforced to him that about 80% of the things in our home were called, “hot dog” before I figured it out.
It’s made me wonder how often when dealing with other people I’m assuming I understand what they’re going through without really pursuing the heart of the matter. Is it possible that a friend who comes to me with a problem needs me to just listen instead of thinking I probably already have a good handle on what’s bothering them and what they can do to fix it? What if instead of offering trite solutions I learned to be a better listener? In James we are reminded to be “quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry”. Am I doing this for my friends? My kids? My husband? If I truly want to understand someone and love them better, I have to learn to listen with a patient heart of compassion. And if all they wanted to do was talk about hot dogs, I’m okay with that, too.