Learn to Listen
Listen to me for a day — an hour! — a moment.
Lest I expire in my terrible wilderness, my
lonely silence! O God, is there no one to listen?
— Seneca (4 B.C.)
In chapter three, we talked about the importance of taking the time to develop relationships — the ones that have the potential to become truly great friendships. Without that time, effort, sweat, and tears, we could well miss out on life's greatest blessings. I know, because it almost happened to me right in my own living room.
It was a cold, rainy night. My son Gordon, now thirty-eight years old but then twenty-one, finally came home around 1:00 A.M. after a long night of smoking marijuana with his friends. I was livid, embarrassed, distraught, and afraid. How could this young man whom we loved so much do this to his mother and me? It wasn't fair; it wasn't right. It was happening to other parents, but who would have ever thought it would have reared its ugly head in the Engstrom family?
We couldn't understand why. But this particular evening I held my peace, even though I had a mind to give Gordon a tongue lashing he would never forget. I listened to him as he shouted that most Christians were phonies, the church was filled with hypocrites, and there were at least a hundred ways to God. On and on he went.
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The more I listened, the more something began to happen inside me. After a while, I no longer saw a son whose head was clouded from the effects of pot. Instead, I began to hear him. Even though I didn't — and don't — approve of anyone's ingesting drugs for recreational purposes, I knew that much of what Gordon had to say was true. There is a tremendous absence of love for each other within the body of Christ. Too often our lifestyles bear little resemblance to that of the Man from Galilee. And yes, Christians are not perfect, and no, they don't all know how to be friends.
I can remember a hot tear falling on my cheek, then another and another as Gordon spoke. I knew in my heart of hearts he was also talking about me. I only tell you this story to say this. Although that winter evening in January 1968 was difficult, humiliating, and upsetting, I think it may have been the first night I really listened to Gordon. In a fresh, new way, I was establishing a real relationship with my son. It was something that changed my life — our lives. It was the beginning of what has now become a beautiful friendship.
Is There No One Who Will Listen?
It's been called a fine art, an uncommon personal skill that must be practiced, developed, and nurtured. It's also been referred to as the most difficult thing for more people to do. Yet, for meaningful, effective living — and to ensure lifelong friendships — it is something we neglect at our own peril.
I'm talking about the ability to listen. The French writer, Pascal, said, "We only consult the ear because the heart is waiting." Shakespeare wrote, "Give every man thine ear,
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but few thy voice." A modern sales representative reminds his sales staff: "When you're telling, you're not selling." Listening! How important! How very difficult! John Drakeford gives us these thoughts on listening.
All of these statements should tell us everyone is looking for a friendly ear. Therefore, the next principle can be stated:
| 4. Commit yourself to learning how to listen. |
It may be a furrowed brow, a grimace that speaks volumes, a hard swallow, or a sigh that simply says "I hear you, I understand, and I think I know what you're going
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through" — all are part of what it means to listen. It's absolutely amazing what we can do without saying a word. Conversely, it can be devastating to everyone concerned when we hear only what we want to hear. A personal example will illustrate this fact.
A man well known in Christian circles was being accused of homosexuality. The rumors were flying of his sexual exploits both at home and abroad. No one had yet proved anything, but it seemed as if the allegations had every reason to be true. I believed them, and when I finally brought the man into my office, I unloaded both barrels. I judged him, I spoke harshly, I was so relentless in my attack that he quickly found himself painted into a corner from which there was no possible escape.
I was so certain I was right that I didn't bother to listen to him. I knew I was right, and I knew he had done wrong. That is, until the truth emerged some weeks later that every rumor had been untrue. He was not, nor had he ever been, a homosexual.
Those are the painful lessons that come with not listening. But there is a better way, and one of the great masters of the theater is our example.
Perhaps you've had the privilege of seeing him perform. He is the amazing, renowned French mime, Marcel Marceau. He speaks four languages and could easily hold his own on just about any subject imaginable, but every year he chooses to perform before hundreds of thousands of awestruck fans in absolute silence.
Marceau's facial expression of anguish is more graphic than if he had taken ten minutes to tell you in words the pain he feels. When in his performance he accepts a loving gift from a friend, his whole body says thank you. Marceau
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can make you laugh, cry, feel anger, pity, or remorse by the skillful display of simple, subtle facial and body movements.
He has often explained his phenomenal success by saying that people simply want to be communicated with, and his pantomimes never fail to break through barriers of culture, language, and what would otherwise be human misunderstanding.
When Marceau first came to the United States from France, would-be promoters who saw his act said, "No sex, no scenery and he doesn't say a word? It will never be commercial."2 That just goes to show how wrong agents can be! For someone with the time-proven performing skills of a Marcel Marceau, the absence of sex and scenery and the presence of silence have hardly been detrimental to his career.
As I found myself reading story after story of this amazing showman (and I encourage you see him perform whenever you have the opportunity), I couldn't help thinking about the untapped power of silence that could do so much good in our lives, if we would only let it. It's common knowledge that virtually every high school and college in the land has a course in public speaking, but we would be hard pressed to find in the curriculum many classes on how to listen or how to express our deepest feelings without saying a word. Yet, these are precisely the skills each of us must develop if we are to learn how to become a friend.
Marcel Marceau has nonverbal skills few of us will ever match. In fact, many of us speak more loudly with out bodies than with words. In his book, More Communication Keys to Your Marriage, H. Norman Wright, nationally known and respected lecturer, marriage counselor, and au-
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thor, asks us to give two or three responses to a list of "non-verbal/non-voice behaviors." I found this exercise fascinating and helpful.
Take a few minutes and see what responses you come up with. Read each item on the following list and try to give two or three "meanings" to each behavior. "Listen" to what you see here:
a. A child nods his head up and down.b. A person turns her head rapidly in a certain direction.
c. A person smiles slightly.
d. A person's lower lip quivers slightly.
e. A person speaks in a loud, harsh voice.
f. A person speaks in a low, monotonous voice.
g. A person suddenly opens his eyes wide.
h. A person keeps her eyes lowered as she speaks to you.
i. A person speaks in a very halting or hesitant voice.
j. A person yawns during a conversation.
k. A person shrugs his shoulders.3
After you've done this exercise, give it to your spouse, your children, or a friend or colleague. See how your individual responses differ. I think you'll discover a whole new communication awareness. At the same time you'll unearth another powerful way to respond to the needs of your friend as you develop your skills of observing and listening without ears.
How to Ruin a Friendship in One Easy Lesson
It was a Friday. The time was 2:30 A.M. Two of our close friends I will call Pete and Joan Johnson were sleeping soundly when Joan heard a noise outside their window. She
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rose to check on the strange sounds only to discover the neighbor's cat sharpening her claws on their shake roof. Joan started to return to bed when she felt faint. Before she knew it, she had fallen to the floor, limp and immobilized. Somehow she was able to call to her husband, "Help me, help me." Pete woke up to find his wife lying shivering in the darkness, unable to move.
Pete took Joan in his arms and placed her on the bed. He turned on the light to discover his wife's body had by now gone completely limp and her eyes had rolled back up into her head. In panic, Pete rushed to the medicine cabinet and returned with a ten-year-old bottle of smelling salts he hoped still had some potency. They did. He slapped at Joan's face and gave her nostrils a hefty dose of pungent salts. Startled, she opened her eyes. After a few minutes it was apparent she would be all right. But for those few brief moments, Pete thought he had lost his dear wife.
Pete and Joan had been invited to dinner the next evening with very good friends, but they both felt it would be better if they stayed home. The trauma of the early morning was still too much to deal with. They knew that rest and relaxation were more appropriate than having to talk loudly for three hours in a noisy restaurant. Beside, they wanted to be sure Joan was all right.
Joan called and spoke to the woman who had invited them. Joan said she had fainted that morning and Pete was afraid she had died. They felt it would be best to take a rain check on the evening.
Without missing a beat, Joan's friend quipped, "Oh, that's nothing. I've fainted lots of times. Now, when can we get together? I mean I was really counting on you two coming. The Michaels will be there, and so will the Wilsons."
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Joan then said quietly, "But Pete was really afraid that I was gone." To which her friend said, "Oh, well, I've never had quite that experience. But I've fainted lots of times. Now let's get our datebooks out and set a new time for dinner."
To hear Joan tell it, it was one of the most devastating conversations she ever had with her friend. There was no listening, no compassion, no concerned silence — none of the responses you would expect from a true friend. At that moment a blow was struck at the friendship. Perhaps it will not be a fatal blow, at least I hope not. But it hurt. It cut deeply.
For whatever reason, Joan's friend forgot one of the most vital ingredients in a friendship is being there to listen at any time of the day or night. It's good for us to listen to stories such as these, because if we observe ourselves in our busy, day-to-day activities we may discover we are often overly preoccupied with our own concerns to hear the needs of a friend. I have one friend in particular who is never too busy to talk to me. And he is one of the busiest men in America.
During one of the more difficult early years of my association with World Vision, I made more than one attempt to extricate myself from the virtually unmanageable fiscal problems and personality conflicts that were daily dogging my steps. In short, I wanted to resign. I was determined to get out. I felt I could no longer cope with the problems.
I went to my friend Dick Halverson, chairman of the World Vision board — and now chaplain of the United States Senate — and I was as direct as I've ever been in my entire life. I said I was through — finished. He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Oh, no, you're not. You've just begun. Besides, if you leave, it will be the death of World Vision."
I doubt the truth of that last statement, but one thing was
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certain. Dick did not approve of my decision. I listened, he listened, we cried, we prayed, and I stayed.
On yet another occasion Dorothy and I made plans for a long weekend with our dear friends Bette and Ned Vessey. I needed to get away just to think and pray — again about my future relationship with World Vision. I'm not normally one to walk away from a challenge, but the pressures, the uncertainties, the personality conflicts were becoming too much to bear.
I told Ned I wanted out, that I simply could not manage the affairs of World Vision any longer. Ned listened. He would nod his head, purse his lips, perhaps shift his feet a bit as he sat there. But he said nothing, not a single word. I just talked and talked. Ned listened and listened.
Hours later when I was all through talking, and when I figured Ned was probably through listening, an uncommon wave of peace came over my heart. I found myself not wanting to leave World Vision at all. If anything, my spirit was renewed, my faith rekindled, hope was restored, and I was a new man. I resolved not to resign, and I was prepared to pour my very best into my work. All Ned had done was listen.
I'm not suggesting every outcome will be the same for you as it was for me during those critical hours. I do know the staying power of a friend's listening ear can help restore perspective to what may be little more than mass confusion.
"Smile and Let the Talk Wash Over"
As I started to write this chapter I noticed a copy of Sports Illustrated on my desk. I take a degree of pride in staying up-to-date with current theological books, missions articles,
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and a variety of magazines that help me to keep abreast of world events. I must confess, when Sports Illustrated arrives, I put many of those other journals aside to bury myself in that week's exploits of our nation's greatest athletes. Today was not different.
The headline on the cover read: "Sportswoman of the Year." One of the pictures below showed Mary Decker pressing the tape as she defeated — by inches — the Soviet champion, Zamira Zaitseva, in a 1500 meters world championship race. The article went on to describe her phenomenal performances in San Diego, Los Angeles, Gateshead (England), Stockholm, Paris, and Oslo.
I was particularly struck by one comment made about Mary by the writer of the article. He wrote, "She can be demanding. She can be shyly coy. She can show an explosive temper. She can sit all evening at the feet of a friend and not say anything, just smile and let the talk wash over her" (italics mine).4
Those last words hit me between the eyes. What a wonderful way to put it. Have you ever done that — just let the "talk wash over"? If you have, you know the joy that comes from this kind of maximum friendship. After all, when you are with your best friend there is little need to rely on non-stop conversation. Often it will be enough to smile, listen, and let the talk wash over you. Ultimately, this quiet, intentional listening may even turn an adversary into a friend. It happened to me.
It's been said that experience is what you get when you were expecting something else. When we translate that into relationships, it reads something like: I thought we would always be friends. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think this friendship would end. Yet the years prove to all of
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us that friends do come and go. People we worked with, played with, and even prayed with at some point are no longer close to us. Some even become adversaries. There is a way to deal with this most difficult situation. I experienced this in my up and down relationship with the founder of World Vision, Bob Pierce.
I first met Bob at a Youth for Christ Conference in Medicine Lake, Minnesota, at the second annual conference of YFC. I was taken to him immediately, and we began what would become a long friendship. I was next with him at the great World Congress on Evangelism in Beatenberg, Switzerland, in 1948. During that time he was carrying on his missionary activities and evangelism in China. It was also the time when he wrote in his Bible, "Let my heart be broken with the things that break the heart of God," which became his life's slogan.
Bob and Dr. Frank C. Phillips then organized World Vision officially as an incorporated body in 1950. During those early years I was very close to Bob Pierce. I was a frequent guest in his home, and I often spoke on his Mutual Network radio broadcast in California. Bob also came to our home in Wheaton, Illinois, on numerous occasions. We would talk, pray, laugh, and enjoy each other to the point where our friendship fast became one of supreme importance to both of us.
In 1963 when I resigned as president of Youth for Christ International, Bob invited me to meet with the World Vision Board of Directors. I was invited to become vice-president of World Vision. Bob said that the Lord had laid my name on his heart, and he asked me if I would be willing to consider coming with him in this new role. I told him I wasn't sure, but I would certainly pray about it. After meeting
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twice with the World Vision board, I accepted their invitation to become executive vice-president of the organization.
It was September 1963. When I came with World Vision, I knew there were obstacles and challenges to Bob Pierce's vision, but I was unaware just how great some of those obstacles were. I soon learned World Vision was in deep financial trouble. We had over $440,000 in debts hanging over our heads from the great Tokyo Crusade Bob had directed. We were also falling behind about $30,000 each month with Bob's radio broadcasts (which was a lot of money in those days — and still is!).
I revealed these realities to the board at a special meeting in Laguna Beach, California, in the fall of 1963. Bob was smitten, literally upended at my report. He asked for a leave of absence, which was granted by the board. For the next year, I was instructed to do all I could to bring some order out of what I sensed was absolute chaos.
"A Root of Bitterness"
Bob never forgave me for what he said was my "stealing" of his organization and for "taking him off the air." These were tremendous tensions, angry words, and unpleasant encounters for that entire year — tensions that continued when Bob returned for his final two years as president of World Vision.
Later, Bob Pierce resigned, but he did so with what he said was "bitterness in his heart." He continued to hold me responsible for his leaving. Our friendship seemed to be on its last legs. That was in 1968.
In 1973, I was in Africa conducting World Vision business when I received a cable from Bob. He referred to his
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"root of bitterness" in the cable. He asked if we could meet together upon my return home. I cabled him immediately and said I would call him the hour I returned to Los Angeles, which I did.
The next day, Bob and I met at noon at the Derby Restaurant near the World Vision offices. We parted at five o'clock. We looked each other in the eye as we shared our hurts and fears, wept, and listened to each other as we had never listened before. We prayed until we could pray no more, listened until we could listen no more, with the one theme of our prayer being that our hearts would be reunited. It was the most exhausting personal encounter I've ever known, but during those five hours Bob and I began to understand many of the problems basic to our separation.
I had thought, when I came to California, that I was coming as Bob Pierce's friend. He saw me coming as his employee and the person to assist him in running the organization. When we really started listening to each other, we discovered each of us had an entirely different concept of what my role was to be.
As we sat across from each other for those five hours in that restaurant, we finally cleared the air that paved the way for reconciliation. Although our friendship was never again blessed with the openness and beauty of those earlier years, we had done what was necessary to restore the relationship. From that day forward Bob and I were able to be comfortable with each other right up to the day he went to be with the Lord.
I deeply loved Bob Pierce, and even though the hurts were on both sides of the friendship, I know in the end there was an equal amount of mutual affection. There is no question that Bob was the most complex person I've ever
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known. But World Vision could never have become what it has become over the years without the drive, dream, and energy that Bob brought to everything he did.
For both Bob and me, turning an adversary into a friend took hours of praying and weeping. It took a mutual choosing to listen, to love, and to trust one another once again, but it was worth every single struggling minute of it.
They key word here is choose. The restoration of a friendship never comes about automatically, nor can it ever be unilateral. It takes the willingness to be uncompromisingly open. It requires total commitment on both sides that says, "We want our friendship to be all it can be." Above all it demands the courtesy of listening.
