Hearing is Healing

My daughter has been volunteering with at-risk youth in the city of Spokane for the past year. 

On a visit to celebrate her 21st birthday, I had the privilege of accompanying her to the Impact Center. She knew every kid in the facility and it was clear that they knew and loved her too.

At one point a new face appeared in the doorway and made her way to our table. The card game came to a stop as “Anne” began to pour her heart out to my daughter about some recent crises in her life.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little awkward with the situation. There were some pretty private things being shared with anyone and everyone within earshot. And a number of people were on hold waiting for the game to resume. But the end was worth waiting for.

After several minutes, a long pause enveloped us. Anne broke the silence. “Thank you, Elizabeth. You always listen to me.”

The message was clear: Anne experienced being loved by the simple act of being heard. Elizabeth didn’t offer advice or solutions. Just a listening ear tied to a heart that clearly cared.

It is only when we have truly heard someone that we can begin to love them the way they need to be loved. To offer the care they need and are asking for. Hearing is healing.

Whether it was a Samaritan woman at a well, a father with a dying child, or a woman suffering from an ongoing illness, Jesus never seemed to be in too much of a hurry to be present. He took the time to listen to and explore the stories of those He encountered.

In his Gospel, Mark describes a woman who suffered from an illness for more than a decade. She had spent everything she had to get well, but only got worse. Her one remaining hope was to encounter Jesus. Pushing her way through a large crowd, she managed to touch a piece of his tunic. The bleeding stopped immediately. She knew she was well.

Jesus felt it happen and stopped in his tracks before asking a seemingly ridiculous question: "Who touched me?" The disciples thought it was a joke. "Who touched you? In this crowd? A better question would be, "Who hasn't touched you?"

But Jesus was determined. Refusing to resume his journey until the person came forward. Eventually she did. And kneeling before him -- right in front of everyone -- she told her whole story. Don't miss those last five words.

Why did Jesus stop the procession and force everyone to wait -- including a distraught father whose daughter was in the process of dying? Because Jesus knew that the physical aspect of this woman's healing was only one part of her journey. Being heard -- and, therefore, loved -- was the other.

Who do you need to begin hearing in a new way today? Hearing is healing.

Listen with one intention -- to understand. Ask clarifying questions to make sure you heard them correctly. And then thank them for trusting you enough to share.

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Recommended Resource: Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, by Peter Scazzero.

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2KIXcGu

An Epic Tug-of-War

Why are some things so easy in theory but so hard in practice?

“I’m sorry.”

“I was wrong.”

“Please forgive me.”

I mean really... they are simple, everyday phrases in our native tongue. Yet sometimes it feels as though those particular words have a 400 pound anchor attached to them. As if the level of difficulty in drawing them from our hearts to our tongues is insurmountable. And an epic battle of tug-of-war rages inside of us -- a battle between doing what's right and self-preservation.

Maybe that’s dramatic, but it seems to be a pretty accurate description of my recent experience. 

I had been on edge for a few days, but couldn’t put my finger on the “why.” My normal jokes and quick quips were of the usual type but there was something different behind them. They cut more than they quipped. My wife was feeling it. I played it off. Maybe she was just feeling extra sensitive, I suggested. But I was noticing too. And then it seemed to subside.

A few days later, we were traveling out of state as a family. People were tired. There was tension in the car. I attempted a joke. It came out more like a jab. It was back. And she wasn’t laughing. I knew I needed to own it. Not just this it, but the other its before it. But it was hard.

You’d think that four and a half decades of opportunity and experience would make anything second nature — even apologizing. But that’s just it — it is second nature. With the first still alive and kicking.

Our first nature hasn’t changed much in 10,000 years. It’s the nature we inherited from Adam and Eve. They hid and blamed. We do the same. Because if there’s one thing we don’t want, it’s our sin out in the open.

“So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate. Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths.

And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man and said to him, “Where are you?” And he said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself.” He said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten of the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” The man said, “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate.” Then the Lord God said to the woman, “What is this that you have done?” The woman said, “The serpent deceived me, and I ate.”

Genesis 3:6-13

To paraphrase…

“I was exposed. I was afraid. So I hid.”

“The woman you gave me, it was her idea.”

“The devil made me do it.”

Have you ever wondered what might have happened if Adam and Eve had simply owned what they had done?

But that’s the hardest part, isn’t it? Ownership. It’s not the words themselves that weigh 400 pounds. After all, we’ve seen kids throw them about with all the weight of a paper airplane. Some adults, too.

I believe it’s the owning of the pain and the damage it’s caused that increases the level of difficulty. It’s admitting the stuff that was — or still is — in our hearts that incarnates the power lifter on the other end of that rope. It’s a battle of the wills. A battle of two natures.

So how do we win? How can we persuade ourselves to do the really hard thing as we ask and trust God to give us the strength? Can I offer you another perspective? One that I hope will lead both of us to more victory in this area of our lives? 

What if we began to think of that 400 pound weight as a measure of potential power to be wielded rather than a personal price to be paid? What if we viewed the difficulty in dragging it from our heart to our mouth as a measure of the potential healing and relief that could come? Because it is.

The harder it is to face the thing you need to face, the more necessary it is to face it. Your desire to ignore what needs to be owned correlates directly with how much it needs to be owned. And the power of an “I’m sorry” is in direct relation to the difficulty in saying it.

I knew I needed to own my it and all the its before it, but hadn’t worked up the courage that evening. Embarrassing, I know. But I woke up the next morning resolved to drag the words to my lips. They would be spoken. No. Matter. What. 

Soon we would be in the car together. Alone. It would be a short drive to church on this Sunday morning, but I would get it done. As we made our way towards the church, the resistance inside felt as if portions of my organs were the ropes involved in this epic tug-of-war.  “It shouldn’t be this hard,” I thought. “Just say it,” I told myself. I was resolved, but the struggle was real. 

We turned into the parking lot. Time was running out. Had I really let it take this long? My heart pumped faster. And louder. The tension may have only been within me but it seemed as if it was enough to fill the whole car. “This is ridiculous,” I thought. And then determination overtook self preservation. “I’m sorry, Sweetie.” I paused and turned to look at her. “My words have been sharper than normal lately,” I continued. “I don’t know what’s causing it, but I know I’ve hurt you. And I’m sorry.”

Tears came. For both of us. She looked at me and simply said, “Thank you.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. They were words she needed to hear. Words her heart needed to receive. And words I needed to say. Healing was happening. Not because it was easy, but because it was hard.

I have a new determination going forward. When I think of the power of owning something that is hard to own, I’m going to begin picturing David standing before a fallen Goliath. That is the victory and legacy I want. Not that of the “warriors” who hid and refused to fight, but of the one who stepped forward. Because he knew there was a good God standing behind him and that His will was crystal clear.

That massive sword at Goliath’s side is the weapon I will yield. Much like the difficult thing I must do, it is full of potential power precisely because of it’s weight and the determination required to wield it. But, oh the joy and satisfaction in raising it overhead when the battle is over and victory is secured! When peace replaces palpitations.

Is there something you need to face today? Face it. Is there an it you need to own? Own it. 

Leave the legacy you want to leave.

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This post belongs to a series in the book of Genesis. To read previous posts in this series, use the links below or the archives to the left of this post.

The Image of God -- Genesis 1:27 -- an important reminder for all of us

Anatomy of a Fall -- Genesis 3:1 -- one of my favorite posts of all time  : )

Lessons from Psalm 23 - David's Confidence

“Even when I walk through the valley of deep darkness,

I will fear no evil…”

Psalm 23:4

Psalm 23 is what biblical scholars call a song of confidence.

We all need a song of confidence sometimes.  Because we all encounter trials, we all face fears, and we all find ourselves in places and moments where deep darkness seems to drown out every ray of hope.  Those places where plans and dreams fade to black, where everything we thought we knew, both present and future, is up for grabs.

What will you do when your greatest fear looks you in the eye?  When words you never wanted to hear reach your ears, how will you respond?  Will you cope?  Or will you crumble?  Will you have a faith that stands?

Six weeks ago, a diagnosis delivered in the tight confines of a doctor’s office gave birth to my greatest fear.  The possibility of losing my wife looked me in the eye and refused to blink.  On March 15, 2012, my wife Heather was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer in her right eye.  My wife.  My best friend.  My partner in family and life and ministry.  Melanoma.  Cancer. 

For a few lingering, slow-motion moments, I was ok.  I told myself it would be ok.  I gave her a reassuring look.  And then more words came.  Words like “chest scans” and “liver function.”  I knew what they meant.  I’d been down this road before.  My knees went weak.  My head got light.  I needed to sit down.  This couldn’t be happening.  Not her.  Not now.  Not like this.

You see, for my family, cancer has been the bully in the schoolyard for the past 15 years.  Occasionally he moves on and picks on someone else, but not before he has left broken hearts and shattered dreams in his wake, claiming the lives of people we love.  He is heartless and care-less.  He doesn’t limit his territory to dark alleys or the wrong part of town.  His patterns are unpredictable.  He doesn’t give a rip about character or karma.  He finds you in your bed at night, and refuses to relent in spite of the day.  As far as I’m concerned, if Jesus is the image of the invisible God (and He is), then cancer is the image of our invisible enemy – coming only to steal, kill and destroy.

David and I (and likely you) have something in common.  We both know a place called the valley of deep darkness.[1]  That place where looming darkness attempts to drown out hope.  I don’t know what David’s valley was.  My guess is that he had many such valleys.  Cancer is my valley of deep darkness.

Yet David and I have something else in common: a tested and proven confidence in God.  I love David’s declaration of confidence in Psalm 23 verse four. “I will fear no evil.”  David would have tweeted it like this:  “I. Will. Fear. No. Evil. #Confidence #Steadfastness.”  In the face of darkness - the thickest darkness.[2]  In the face of fear – perhaps his greatest fear.  Confidence in God.  Don’t you want that?  Who wouldn’t want that?!? 

We would do well to locate the source of such confidence.  David reveals it in two Hebrew words.  We require three to translate to English, but they are broken up like this: “You.  With me.”  The reason for David’s confidence in the face of evil, in the face of fear and in the midst of darkness:  “You.  With me.”  When he couldn’t see God.  When he couldn’t feel God.  He still knew that God was “with him.”

David’s statement reveals an important spiritual truth:  Past faithfulness builds future confidence.  A good friend of mine[3] shared that in a sermon more than five years ago and I remember it to this day.  Not because the words are profound, but because the truth of it is - as I have witnessed time and time again.

  Past faithfulness builds future confidence.  The past faithfulness of God builds future confidence in us.  By experiencing the loving care of our Shepherd through daily life as well as times of trial, we know that He will care for and sustain us whatever may come our way.  It is a confidence borne out of experience.

Hebrew scholars tell us that David’s verse of confidence – “I will fear no evil, for you are with me” – is the apex or peak of his song of confidence.  That means that everything in the psalm flows up to it or down from it. 

David knew God’s faithfulness – and he makes this clear in the beginning of the psalm.  When he could find no place to rest, God was a pasture of cool green grass where he could lay down in safety.  When the threats of his enemies echoed in his ears, the reassuring voice of God was as the sounds of soothing waters.  And when his soul approached the breaking point, the Good Shepherd was faithful to bring restoration – in Hebrew, to “give life back” to his weary soul.

The psalmist’s words in Psalm 71 are so relevant here.

“For you, O Lord, are my hope,

my trust, O Lord, from my youth…

You who have made me see many troubles 

and calamities will revive me again.”  

 (Psa 71: 5,20)

Past faithfulness built future confidence for David.  And God's past faithfulness builds future confidence for us as well.

The confidence you need today is found in the faithfulness of God in all of your yesterdays.

Author's note:  You can find information and updates regarding Heather's condition on her Caring Bridge site...  http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/heatherhawks

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[1] Many translations have the phrase “valley of the shadow of death,” however the word “death” is not there in the original Hebrew text.  A more literal translation is “valley of deep darkness” or “valley of thick darkness.”  Tradition is the primary reason that “valley of the shadow of death” continues to be a popular reading. The fact that the word for darkness here is the strongest possible Hebrew word for darkness leads some to conclude that David must have had death in mind.

[2] The word for darkness here is the strongest possible Hebrew word for darkness.  In Job 28:3 it is used for the darkness of a mineshaft – the kind of darkness where you can’t see your hand in front of your face.

[3] Credit for this memorable phrase goes to my good friend and faithful brother in Christ, Steven Bronston.