The Art of Listening

I listen to my husband as he shares his triumphs and searches for solutions to his challenges and even venting his frustrations.

I listen to my son who is far from home in the military facing different sets of challenges, life decisions and even small matters like how to treat a cold.

I listen to my three daughters who are becoming young women, deciding the direction of their lives. Transforming from dependent children to independent adults - there is a world in between where knots are slowly dissolved. I listen to their pulling away and holding on.

Sometimes listening requires drawing out that which exists within the other that needs to be listened to.

I listen to my mother who is older and still wants to participate in my life, holding on, savoring each moment. I listen to her wisdom and look for venues where she can still be part of my life.

I listen to my sisters, even though we have chosen different paths there are still common links which we try to preserve and enjoy.

I listen to my friends who need to be heard because they listen to me when I need to be listened to.

I listen to the seekers coming my way needing to unravel the knots in their lives that they may be free to experience their spirit.

I listen to the sounds of nature in the needs of my garden, my pet. I listen to the wind caressing the tree tops - giving them a voice in the rustling of their leaves.

I listen to a gust of wind touching down in a forest reverberating like the sound of the ocean meeting a shore. I listen to the sound of the birds, the bark of a dog, the cry of a hawk in the sky and the gurgling of a frolicking creek.

There is still another voice that strains to be heard and that is the still small voice within. It summons amidst the chorus of voices all around me - beckoning.

There is a story waiting to be born within me. It is waiting for me to listen to it - quietly, intently, reverently. It is waiting to be told so that others can listen.