Scattered Thoughts

Once, I was someone people poured their problems into. I was a vessel of troubled times, worries others had. I listened and, in my youthful way, tried to respond. Then I learned to not give advice, because I learned from myself that I don't like to receive it and that I'm not wise, nor will I ever be. So I changed into someone who is a listener only. I tell people, "I'm good at listening, and I'm also good at not giving advice." A disclaimer, in case that's what they wanted. Lately, I've become a holder of silences. "My dad passed away," someone will tell me. "Oh," I say in return. "I'm sorry." Then I do one of two things: I continue to pretend the world is spinning, even though I know it has shuddered to a stop, or I don't say anything, but absorb the silence and offer a hug or similar physical comfort. It depends on the setting, I guess. I've learned I can never truly understand someone, though I have spent a great part of my short life trying to understand. Solomon once said to God, "I am but a little child: I know not how to go out or come in. ... Give therefore thy servant an understanding heart ..." (1 Kings 3:7, 9) When I read that scripture a few months ago, I recognized it as a prayer I myself have prayed (though not so eloquently). I strive to understand, though I know it is a futile struggle. I can never completely understand those around me. That is why I am a silent comforter now; I have no words to offer that will truly comfort, nothing to give that will ease their burdens. All I can do is to accept their offering--because revealing truth is an offering, a moment wherein the teller is vulnerable, reaching out for love--and stand by their side. My hope is that the telling did the healing, and my part is to provide unquestioning, unwavering support, acceptance, and love. I am always grateful they tell me, and I do not begrudge those who keep their burdens to themselves. I am an expert at not asking. I'm sure this method is not the best, but it is the best I have come to as yet.

I wonder if Lois Lowry's The Giver is really a story about an aging man who is forgetting what he has learned over the years, but he manages to hold the knowledge and wisdom out, depositing it in a new mind to carry it onward, even when he has forgotten, or has left. A story about aging, mentors, and renewal. To be on the mentored side is ... quiet, if you'll understand what I mean by using that word in place of an emotion. It describes the feeling best, I think.

To learn on one's own begets knowledge with understanding, but being told an answer begets knowledge alone, with little to no understanding. Such is the power of fiction: it allows one to experience and gain understanding while they learn. You may be reading this post and not understand a word of it, though you think you do. I may not even completely understand it until I am much wiser. I once wrote a poem I did not understand until years later, and now it echoes in my mind at times. There is value in the search for an answer. That value is lost if the journey is cut short; the lesson is left incompletely learned, and the journey must be undertaken again, at a later time. The best mentors accompany one on the journey without taking one straight to the conclusion. I can't help but think this is why God does not give us all the answers. The purpose of my life is to learn--perhaps death is meant to come once all the learning has been done. That is what I would like to think, in any case.



Note: The painting included is by Jeremy Lipking. It is one of my favorites.