Between me and thee

Have you ever found yourself tangled in knots over some perceived misunderstanding? If not, if you have no idea what I’m talking about, this is definitely not going to resonate.  But this is something I’ve been working on for the past year or so.  Although it feels like I keep having more opportunities than I’m comfortable with.  Maybe I’m just finally addressing this weak area.  For whatever my vulnerability’s worth, here’s what I’ve been learning lately.

I have no idea what instigated this change.  Or how I’ve become so bold.  Maybe it’s just getting older and realizing how fast life goes.  And recognizing that all that matters in life is our relationships.  And so I’ve wanted to protect them and to save them, to not just dismiss them when I don’t understand or when I feel foolish or hurt.  I’m realizing how much my friendships and family relationships mean to me, and I’m willing to put in some effort to maintain them and to make them stronger.  Which is exactly what’s happened in nearly every single instance when I’ve mustered up the courage to clear up misunderstandings.  And maybe that won’t always be the case.  I’m just getting started, and knowing how I am, guaranteed I’ll continue to get plenty of experience in the years to come. So maybe they won't all work out, who knows?

Anyway, some instances come to mind where I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on and things weren’t sitting right, I felt unsettled.  I wasn’t sure what was off, but I found myself filling in the blanks and the stories I was making up didn’t feel good.  So, even if the truth would be difficult to hear, I wanted to do whatever I could to make things better.  I took this adage from the scriptures to heart. 

“Moreover if thy brother shall trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and him alone: if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother” (Matt 18:15).

Well, I sort of took some liberty with it and just feel like it there’s any discord, if I have a question about something that’s happened, the best recourse and quickest way to make amends is to go directly to that person.  Not others.  Not gossip.  Just between thee and him alone. 

You probably don’t need all these details, but just so you can see how easily things could’ve gotten away from me, how quickly I could’ve dismissed a friendship over a simple misunderstanding, a few examples of how getting the other side, an explanation, a different perspective, has made all the difference.

My sister and I had the great idea for our three nephews (our other sister’s kids) to come spend part of the summer with us.  Their mom said thanks but no.  Her response felt a little short but I also knew she had a million things going on with work and her personal life, so I chalked it up to her being distracted and busy. Though I did wonder if she didn’t think I’d be responsible for them, if I’d be mean to them, if she didn’t think I’d be sweet enough.  I felt sad thinking that might be the case.  But instead of stewing and making up a story, I decided to be brave and just ask her why not.  As she explained her reasoning, that it’s too expensive to get them all the way up here for such a short time, it’s just easier to keep things steady, etc., I totally agreed with her and understood immediately where she was coming from.  Easy as making a quick phone call and all was well.

I had a dear friend who made a comment on a blog I’d written.  Honestly, I can’t even tell you what it was about or any of the details, I can’t remember! But I do recall wondering at the time if I’d said something offensive in it or if what I’d written could be mis-taken, and so I immediately took it down.  She was so gracious and has many times over tried to console me and make amends.  For something she didn’t even do!  She cared enough about our friendship to call me on the phone.  Even though she admitted it was scary. I felt dumb.  But loved.  Before and since, we’ve had long and heart-felt conversations; she made me the cutest little painted card that I think I’ll cherish forever.  I feel like we are tight, that she is a trusted friend and confidant, that we have become closer and a lot more open with each other because of this.  My love for her has soared.

I had another friend I got in contact with because I just hadn’t heard much from her over the past year or so.  Before that, we’d gone back and forth a bit and I thought we were good.  But then an abrupt stop.  And so I fretted, wondering what I’d said or done.  Finally I messaged her just to get back in contact and to let her know I’d missed her, and it was brilliant!  I felt so good about making the (scary) effort.  Because she could’ve easily ignored me.  But we’ve known each other since jr. high, so I felt it was a risk worth taking.  We caught up on what our kids and families are doing, what our lives are like, where we are.  It was such a relief to hear back from her and to chat.  It’s just nice to know we’re still good instead of wondering what went wrong. My love for her has grown from these simply interactions as well.

And just last week I had to bravely ask the person I volunteer for if she even still wanted me to continue.  I felt I’d made such a mess of things with their filing system, I wanted to give her an easy out, a chance for her to tell me she didn’t need my help anymore.  But as we texted back and forth, she reassured me and made me feel that I really was making things easier for her (even if she’d had to go searching for some misplaced papers the nurses couldn’t find in their binders!).  I’d been fretting and worried about this all week, and when I finally faced it and brought it up, I felt such relief as we talked.  I suggested she make a sample binder to help me learn, which she did. And I determined to pay more attention to what I was doing, to ask more questions if something was unfamiliar. I prayed to be more conscientious, to be able to do a good job.  I’m so glad I was brave and admitted I was flustered and that we talked about it.  It has been even better ever since.  I feel lighter, I feel more comfortable working with her and enjoy her company, and I’m not as uptight, making it easier to do a careful job. 

I have oodles of examples I could share, I feel like I’ve been in tangles my whole life.  And I have many regrets as I think back to missed opportunities.  I so often took the “easy” way out and talked about my issues with others instead of going directly to the person I had uncertainties about.  One that always comes to mind is when I was a youth leader and our presidency wasn’t unified.  It makes me sad that I gave up without ever talking about it with them.

But maybe you have some of your own.  With less and less personal interaction, with more miles between us, with all that’s going on in our lives, there’s more room for miscommunication these days.  Especially if we limit ourselves to email, texting, and messaging.  I have learned to stop using impersonal means of communication when something more than when and where are at stake.  If we want or need to talk about something personal or regarding feelings, we need to do it in person, or at least on the phone.

I’m impressed, and so inspired, by the loving reactions of nearly every single person I’ve talked with when there’s been something off in our relationship.  Even if it’s just me being hyper- sensitive when there’s nothing even going on. With very few exceptions, we’ve resolved the issue (that honestly has always been a simple misunderstanding or lack of information) immediately and have strengthened our relationship.

I just wonder if we could start doing this more.  Can we talk with our spouses, our kids, our girlfriends, our sisters, our co-workers, our employers, our committee members, our fellow church goers, friends from years ago, whoever, and clear the air? Can we humbly approach them and lovingly ask what went wrong, where we’ve contributed, why the disconnect, if there even is an issue at all?  I think it’s easier to ignore it all.  To let them make the first move.  To tell ourselves it’s them.  But maybe we just need to start somewhere.  Maybe it doesn’t matter who initiates the conversation. In my experience, it’s worth feeling vulnerable and foolish because it’s almost always made things better. What matters is that we get on it, the sooner the better, that we do it privately, and that we do it with love. 

Becoming her

Another late Sunday night pillow talk.  My intention is always to get to bed early so that I’ll get a head start on the week.  As usual, I’m behind before the week even starts.  But it’s good.  Because Todd is so wise and helps me see another way of looking at my concerns.  And when it’s late, and the kids are bedded down, when we’re coming off a busy week and full weekend, I have all sorts of things jumbled in my head.  And so does he. And so it’s worth it to stay up an extra hour to talk about it and just be tired tomorrow.

At one point we were discussing our assignments at church, it being Sunday and all.  And what we needed to do with them for the upcoming week.  We didn’t get that far before I felt tears in the corners of my eyes.  This, I’ve learned, is typical whenever my current calling comes up.  As innocent as inquiries are about how it’s going, I can’t help but get emotional.  I try to be vague with most of my friends, Fine, I guess, fine.  Actually I have no idea.  But with Todd, I just tell him the truth.

I’m not doing it everyday.  I feel like a fraud.  Why don’t they get someone like the lady who was doing this before me? She was perfect for the job, super kind and organized and on the ball and the type to visit and remember things and seek out the lonely and make the effort to notice all the details about everything.  I’m not her.  And my other friends who’re doing the exact same thing… wow.  I just feel like a slug.  I confessed all the things I wish I was.  I told him all the things I love about other people.  I wondered for the eight hundredth time why me.  There are so many more qualified, right people for the job.

And then he said something that stopped me in my tears.  Then become that person.

He wasn’t being mean.  Not at all.  He wasn’t trying to just shut me down.  He was just making an observation.  And offering a solution to my woes.  Typically male.  But a perspective I’ve come to value and respect over the years.

My initial reaction was self-preservation.  Todd, quit trying to fix things.  Just hear me out, commiserate with me. Don’t you understand? There’s no way.  I’m only who I am; I can’t change just like that just because I want to.

But after I settled down, much like a tired two-year old becomes after a thrashing tantrum, I had the wherewithal to consider his advice.

And I realized that of course that was an option.  The best kind of option.

Not that I can become Super Woman by sewing all the traits I love about other women into my own cape.  But I realized that instead of bemoaning the fact that I’m not doing xyz, why not try?

This is a natural tendency, we see this all the time in society.  People who play victim, who keep telling themselves their station in life is unfair or they haven’t been as fortunate or lucky or blessed.  We tend to blame our pasts, our upbringing, our parents, our lack of talent, our weaknesses, our circumstances, lack of opportunity and even our personalities for what’s not going well in life.  I totally get that life isn’t fair.

And I’m the first to admit it would be helpful to have an outgoing, confident, get-er-done personality and over-the-moon-charisma in this calling. I would love that!  But what I really want is to connect with other women.  I want them to know they’re not alone, that they have friends, sisters who know about them and care what’s going on in their lives.  I want to know these people.  I want to make a difference in their lives.  I want to give them hope.  And I think that’s doable.  Because I’ve seen my friends doing this.

The women around me that I admire so much are teaching me to carve out time for visits, to communicate more clearly with those I serve with, to recognize needs better and sooner, to pay attention to what’s not being said, to think of things like phone calls and notes and potted plants, to go find and accept and love those who aren’t sure where they are at the moment. They’re modeling things that don’t come naturally for me.  Yet I know Todd’s right. I can work to integrate traits I love about them, they can become a part of me.

This mindset can work for all of us.  Not crafty, musical, culinary, athletic, or thrifty? Take a class, get a book, hire a teacher, trainer or life coach, enlist a friend.  Not that kind of mom? Decide what you envision for your family and do what it takes to incorporate some new ideas.  Not outgoing, detail-oriented, or well-read? Maybe not a handyman, green thumb, or confident public speaker? Work on it. In the wrong career, job not working for you? Go back to school, make some changes, use your contacts to meet new people who can help.  We don’t have to stay where we are.

Why can’t someone who still can’t read in second grade become a veterinarian? Why can’t an awkward, shy teen become a comfortable conversationalist as an adult?  Why can’t a new wife who doesn’t know the first thing about yeast or cooking in general learn to make bread and dinner every night? Why can’t we move past our pasts? Why don’t we stop letting our perceptions paralyze our progress? Why can’t we see that we can become him or her, the person we see as our ideal? Not a person we know somewhere out there, but a composite of traits we admire, an enlarged, better version of ourselves.  I know this is what Todd was in essence trying to say, albeit much more succinctly.  Stop wishing you were something or someone else; and, in your own way, do what it takes to become her.

The answer

I was sitting in a very quiet spot with my thoughts about a tender situation, in a quandary as to whether I should address it or let it go.  I wasn’t sure about the course I was choosing. I’d prayed about this so many times.  I couldn’t believe what  I felt He was telling me to do.

Love her.

But what about the rest? Shouldn’t we have some resolution, shouldn’t I say or do something to fix this???

Just love her.

I’ve thought about my older kids so often over the past few years.  Now that we’re in such a different parenting phase, what do my teenagers and 20 year olds need from me?  I have no concrete evidence that they need me at all.  So I choose to stand back and observe.  I want them simply to know we’re here.  That they have our support.  That we care.  That we’ll listen.  They don’t really need us to solve any of their troubles.  And they certainly don’t need us to point out any of their issues.  They can figure things out just fine. So what can I do?

Just love them.

I can’t help but think about the people around me in the middle of major life transitions.  They vent, they share, they wonder what they’re supposed to be doing at this junction.  They seem anxious and confused. But I intuitively know they don’t need me to fix anything.  Or to tell them what I’d do if I were them. They just need someone to listen.  To just be with them.  

To love them.

As I think about the people in my life, I wonder what it means to love someone.  It sounds so churchy.  So cliche and generic. What does He have in mind when He sends the thought to me? What does it look like?

As I was sitting still, I felt some things.  I think it means to accept people where they are.  As who they are.  Without a notion in the world about changing them.  It means listening.  Without forming an opinion about I would do or what they should do.  It means not discussing what we discussed with others.  It means keeping still when I want to talk.  And instead simply listening some more. It means giving them plenty of space.  While checking in every now and then.  With kids at home that means several times a day, with adult children that could mean every other day or a few times a week, depends.  With friends, that’s tricky.  Some want more and some are good with just an occasional thinking of you.  It means meeting people where they are and not expecting more than they can or want to give. It means letting that be ok. Even if that means they don’t want you in their life anymore. It’s letting go because that’s where they are.  It’s not holding a grudge.  It’s forgiving.  And apologizing.  Even when you can’t figure out what you’ve done. It means being humble. It means I believe you when you say we’re good. It’s trusting.  Them.  And God.  That love is all that’s needed.

As I thought about all the situations and relationships I have questions about, whether in my assignment at church or within my family or circle of friends, I wonder what I’m supposed to be doing.  And this is the overwhelming feeling I get.  That helps me with all of it.

Love them.

The way I would.

It’s so much easier when I take myself out of the equation and simply try to plug Christ in instead.  How would He love these people I care about so much?  I sense that He listened.  And walked with them.  He asked them meaningful questions that helped them think and come to their own conclusions.  He accepted them right where they were and encouraged them on their journey.  He gave them hope. He taught by example.  In quiet and unobtrusive and humble ways.  People felt safe with him.  They trusted him.  They knew he knew them deeply.  And that he loved them anyway.

I think it means that for the most part people can solve their own problems.  I don’t need to be in their business.  If they ask, if they want help or advice, if I sense to, yes.  But for the most part, God loves us by trusting us to work things out on our own. And we can certainly do no better than to follow that pattern.

A friend and I were talking about this.  How do we refrain from judging when someone is making decisions that are contrary to obvious good sense? Or at least in opposition to what we would do.  This wise woman, just a few years further down the road, taught me that she simply refuses to go there, and instead she just asks herself how she can show them kindness, How can I love them, how can I help?

I think that’s what He’s trying to tell me when I hear the thought Love her in my mind.  I think I can do better.  I think that’s what He’s saying to me. I think this answer is spot on.  Inspired.

The natural man in me wants to fix.  To make things better.  To have resolution.  To see results. To tidy things up. But God’s way is slower.  More patient.  More relaxed.  Time is of no consequence.  He’s teaching me that the best way to help others and ourselves is to be charitable.  A cushion of love supports those we care about. When we love unconditionally and without judgment or worry about how they’re affecting us or how they feel about us, we take ourselves out the equation and we experience peace.  Because we’re trusting, we’re giving up the idea that we need to solve anything or do anything more.  In small ways like this we start to become like Him.

And so I felt to leave this particular issue in His hands. Again. I’ve been here before and dropped it as His feet in desperation.  I’ve done this so many times with weaknesses, with uncertainties, with questions.  But, like an impatient little girl, I’ve picked these things up again and again, deciding since nothing was happening I would have to figure it out on my own. But I felt like He was telling me, I’m handling it.  I fought back, It’s been so long! Why? You’re GOD! Can’t you fix this? Can’t you give me some indication, some sort of sign that you’ve really got this? That we’re making progress? Because it doesn’t look like anything’s changing.

Love her.  Love them. Love yourself.  Love me.  That’s all I get.  And I suppose that’s all I need to worry about. Because He obviously thinks that’s enough for now.

Rainy day

A nap under a homemade quilt on a rainy Friday afternoon with the window open. Pizza and a movie with just our little family after a busy week without guilt that we should be working in the yard putting dirt in the garden boxes Todd just made us.

The sound of drops hitting the sky light glass while we’re lying in bed, the ultimate white noise, keeping us awake and soothing us to sleep simultaneously.

Noticing the precise moment the rainwater transforms to hail on a late spring afternoon.  Watching my teenaged girls don bathing suits and dance through their laughs even though it’s freezing.  Wrapping up in white fluffy towels afterward, a reward for being so brave.

A night for comfort food, warm old-fashioned fare like mince and smashed potatoes. Always feels like we should have soup and bread.

A Saturday morning for lingering in the cozy sheets together or waking up early to squeeze in a walk before the next storm or spontaneously deciding it’s the perfect time to make waffles and hashbrowns or to find a cozy corner booth at a local diner or quaint downtown eatery where a band will be getting ready for their first set.

Not having to do my hair.  The rain will just make it curly anyway.  Yay for a day off!

Fresh warm socks after the others get soaked from walking through a puddle-filled parking lot.

The glee derived from driving through those huge puddles, the kind that splashes up both sides of the vehicle saturating all the parts with intensity, slowing us down because they’re deeper than we thought.

Watching the wipers trying to keep up.  The satisfaction from that tiny moment of perfectly clear windshield before it speckles again.

Reading on the couch under a blanket.

Umbrellas! A portable shelter allowing us to be out in the weather and to watch it all up close without getting spoiled. We so seldom get to use them in this part of the country, such a treat to pop out a tent of color!

The juxtaposition of darkening clouds and bright green blades of freshly mowed grass.  The rainbow of blacks and grays all across the sky.  The formations of a million different clouds all crowding together.  Watching them wander through the atmosphere like elephants on a trail.

And yes, the other kind of rainbow.  Where you seriously believe you can tell where it ends.  Making you think back to the story about the pot of gold and your childhood.

Feeling lucky that you never did wash your vehicle.

The intoxicating smell as the first drops hit the pavement.  The scent of freshness wafting through open windows.

The first time wearing a brand new rain jacket, the perfect shade of turquoise.  I can’t remember ever owning a rain jacket, although I’m sure I did as a kid.  Just the right heaviness, a tarp of protection, complete with a hood, all day long.

Avery’s rain boots from Scotland with flowers all up and down them.  Oh so Avery.

Watching what animals do, some finding shelter and hunkering down, others seemingly oblivious to the wet and cold.  Feeling bad for our dogs who don’t understand.

The thrill of lightning ripping apart the dark and thunder that temporarily crowds out any other sounds.  The security that comes from being a grown up and knowing neither one can really hurt you.  

Delighting in the leaves and branches bowing and curtseying to each other.  Daring them to bend wildly but not to completely break.  The relief of waking up and having your house and trees still mostly intact.

Being tucked inside together while the storm rages. But wondering about the teenaged boy I saw earlier today who had walked miles on the side of the road with a backpack and earbuds.  Where is he now and where will he go?  The image haunts me and makes me want to hug my own kids tight as we watch the storm from the other side of the glass.

Connecting through words

The backdrop for all love languages*, as I understand, is a desire to connect; we just feel love in different ways. My daughters and sister, for instance, relish a little package of mints on their pillows, the carefully selected birthday necklace mailed across the miles; they can tell by these small tokens that someone is thinking of them and knows them enough to choose well.  My husband tries to create opportunities for closeness by asking me to go for long summer-morning walks and reserving Thursdays for lunch; my other sister loves going for ice cream or even to Costco as a family.  Our kids have always been affectionate and we’re all very “huggable,” as Mitchell used to say. Our youngest daughter would often come to me in her preschool days when she wanted to cuddle, so I’d leave my rubber gloves and dishes and wrap her up in my arms and we’d just snuggle on the couch together for as long as she wanted.  I loved it when my dad filled up my gas tank and it made me feel so loved when a friend rencently helped me paint; I know others appreciate a homemade meal. I, like many of my friends and maybe some of you, feel love through words.

With all the others, you don’t really need to wait for someone to do anything.  Obviously it’s not the same if you have to instigate the exchange, but really, in a pinch, you can simply make it happen.  Buy yourself a pair of shoes or a pack of gum or a fun pair of earrings if you’re a gifts person.   Go give her a hug (confession, I do this all the time, my second love language is physical touch), cuddle with one of the kids, give someone a back scratch in church, sit close to your spouse and grab his hand if you’re physical touch.  If you’re acts of service, simply ask him to vacuum out the car for you, suggest he make dinner on Sunday, ask if he’ll run an errand for you and take a kid with him.  And if you’re quality time, ask someone to lunch, drop by to visit a friend, plan an outing, invite a family over. Easy peasy.

But what happens if you’re words?  Tell me what you like about me.  Let’s talk about ___.  Why do you like being my friend? Oh man, what could be worse than having words of affirmation for your love language?

Here’s the thing.  It’s the of affirmation part that throws me off.  Writing out, seeing, or even hearing the complete tagline of affirmation gives me chills every time. It sounds so needy and desperate, clingy, like we need coddling because we’re weak and insecure. Who wants to be that kind of person? That’s the super uncomfortable part of this particular love language.  The part I hate.

And I know I have a tendency to blow them off them when people tell me something nice (aren’t most of us like that?). A true friend (actually more than one… ok several have) pulled me aside and called me out on it.  I’m working on it because I want to be gracious, and I want my friends to know I love and appreciate them. Such a weak weak area of mine.  And yet I love their kindnesses so much—they make me feel like floating!  However, I don’t like hearing things in front of others because it’s embarrassing, it feels like I’m basking in it, wanting attention. I so want to be humble, but I make it awkward. I’m always in a quandary.  In private is not as bad but still a little bad.  I love notes or little cards in my mail pile amid the bills and advertisements.  And not that everyone likes notes, but I think everyone likes to know that they’re making some little difference in the world, that their efforts have had influence. 

It’s not like we words-people need a lot of compliments.  I totally agree with Mark Twain, “I can live for two months on a good compliment.” But a sincere compliment propels us to work even harder on whatever someone noticed.  And so we have something to keep us busy for at least a couple of months!  A compliment just helps us recognize the traits in ourselves that we don’t see, latent or underdeveloped buds of talents, a strength that we didn’t know anyone noticed. And I don’t think I’m the only one who appreciates this.  I think it makes Todd feel good when someone compliments him on his flooring or kind doctor manner or his easy-to-get-along-with personality.  I love sharing these compliments with him when I hear them, and I do think it makes him feel good.  And we know it’s just good parenting (and human relations) to share positive affirmations as often as we think to—as long as they’re sincere.

I can’t speak for all my words-friends, but my favorite compliments have nothing to do with my outside.  I’m not into clothes or shoes, I have no idea what to do with my hair, I always forget to do my toenails (even for church, good grief), I can see my tummy even though I try to tuck it in when I go out in public. It’s obvious we couldn’t care less what our cars look like. Food… I figure anyone can find the same recipe and make whatever I’ve made.

But I love when people compliment our house.  Not the looks of it (although it’s highly amusing to me when they do; a little pair of girls slept over the other night and they slowly went around looking at all our decorations declaring it a beautiful house and I couldn’t help but laugh right out loud with Todd because we’ve got eyes, we know what it looks like, just funny). No, what I love is when people say they love the way it feels in our house.  I love when they say it feels like home.  I like it when they open the fridge and ask what we had for dinner or if we have any more cantaloupe; that shows they feel at home here.  It warms my heart when they find themselves a glass and make chocolate milk. I sense they feel comfortable.  And when they say something to that end, I swoon.

I love when Todd brings home something nice he hears.  It happens like once every six months, but still, it warms my heart and it’s plenty!  I don’t really care about stuff like we have cute cows (we think they’re cute too, but we didn’t have anything in the world to do with making them).  No, what melts my heart is when someone felt something from a conversation we had or that something from a talk we gave made them think differently or feel better, that they enjoyed their time at our house, that something we did made their life easier or helped them feel noticed and cared about.  I can’t do much about the looks of anything, but I love helping people feel good.

It’s been good to mull this over because it’s helped me understand what my (maybe our?) core need is as a words person.  I think I’m just like all of you with your various languages; I simply want to connect with people.  I want to bridge the gap between our perceived differences, I yearn for closeness, for everyone to be heard and validated.

What I crave is connection through words. (I have no idea if any other words people are like this, for whatever reason we haven’t talked about it.) So for me that means good conversation.  Small talk is extremely tiresome to me.  Because I feel like we’re not going anywhere.  We’re up in the clouds talking about the weather; I want to go for a long walk on the beach and talk about everything else.  Just a meaningful, heartfelt exchange of real feelings and honest thoughts.  Cozy evenings by the fire with friends.  A corner booth with hot chocolate on a chilly morning.  A long walk in the fall leaves.  A car trip where we have miles and miles to just talk and talk and talk.  I simply love it when someone trusts me with her heart.  When we find common ground.  When we’ve experienced the same thing and can talk about it.  When we both feel validated. It creates a closeness that fills me right up.

I have friends who tell me about their words-kids who want to talk forever about every detail, and I bet a lot of words-people are like that. I don’t care how many sequins were on her dress or what gun you used for your elk, but I love talking about social issues and how my friends came to their conclusions, what they care about and what worries them.  Conversation helps me know people, and I have come to learn that that it’s when you get to know someone that you come to love them. And so it helps when your words-daughter doesn’t get shut down, when she’s free to talk for as long as she wants. It's validating and filling her bucket.

I tried to explain to my quality-time husband how important it is to be heard. When we’re having a good conversation about our kids or an important decision we need to make and then suddenly it shoots off to talking about the garden or hunting, I feel deflated.  Bor-ring.  And so disappointing. I thought we had something, I thought we were connecting. I told him it’s like us cuddling in bed on a rainy Saturday morning or lingering outside at the patio table on a beautiful summer evening after dinner and me jumping up to go clear the dishes or get the laundry started. The abrupt ending ruins a perfectly fulfilling moment.  I’m wondering if other words-people may feel the same?

So how can someone like my husband, for whom words is like his 21st love language, hope to connect with me and other words-friends in a way that is meaningful? How can those of you who like to hang out or who like buying gifts or who just want to cuddle on the couch show your words-loving family and friends you care about them in a way that resonates with them?

People have told me a million times they aren’t words people, that they don’t know how to do it.  I tell them all it really is the thought that counts (at least in my case).  I don’t care about how clumsy or awkward or clunky they think their words are, not at all. It just means so much that they would make the effort, that they care enough to try when they send me a note or say something nice or share a long texting conversation with me.  I always tell people who want to connect with their words-people to just be sincere, real, themselves; don’t try to make it sound good, just say what you really think in a way you would talk.  It’s like getting a back rub from your kids who aren’t specially trained—who cares? Or having a friend come to keep you company at the hospital who doesn’t really know what to say or do.  Just the fact that they sincerely want to show you love, that’s what matters. It’s easier than you think.  

A quick text is the perfect way to start—text your teenagers anything, a joke, an emoji, any sort of thinking of you, encouragement for a test or interview. Text a friend how much it meant that she’d meet you for a walk and how great it was to catch up.  A kiss emoji to a spouse and I love you.

Point out anything you notice in the people around you.  Fun outfit! Creative way to decorate, love your style.  I love how I can open up with you. Thanks for doing the dishes and wiping off the counters.  That was a great paper.

Be specific, just say what comes to mind. Don’t keep it inside just because it doesn’t seem that important or because you don’t have the right words to say it.  Share compliments you hear from teachers and other adults or other kids with your kids.

When the thought comes to write a note, don’t worry what kind of paper you have, what your handwriting looks like, how long it needs to be, or what you’ll say.  Just say the real words that come to mind.  Guaranteed, a words-person doesn’t care one bit about any of the other stuff.   Leave a sticky note on her bathroom mirror or bedroom door, send a Hallmark card that says all the words for you, write on her napkin in her lunch.

To be honest, I don’t know what all words-people need or want, but I know she’ll tell you if you ask. Our kids may not be able to express that they like to hear nice things, but they will appreciate any attempt we make, no matter how inept we feel.  I just know how much it means to me when people engage in good conversation and how it warms my heart when someone points out an effort I’ve made, something that’s unique about me, or how I’ve helped or made a difference.  And I imagine most words-people feel the same.

• Five Love Languages, Gary Chapman

Purpose

Even though I can barely remember the details when a friend asks what I’ve been up to this week, I can clearly recall some of my first days home with Baby Andrew in our tiny one bedroom apartment situated above a professor’s garage. I’d worked full-time until the day before I had him, but all of a sudden I was alone all day with no company. Todd left us at 5:30 in the morning to drive half an hour to work, so we were on our own.  I knew instinctively my job was to get stronger and to keep Andrew alive.  And get ready to move in two weeks. But it didn’t seem like much of a job. I remember feeling out of the loop, no longer productive or useful; all I did was rest on either the bed or the couch and take care of the two of us and our little life.  But as we all know, I was everything to our baby in those days.  I was his lifeline, his whole world.  I remember holding him and cuddling him every chance I got.  I read aloud to him just so he could hear my voice.  I of course fed us and kept us and our tiny apartment and clothes clean. I did all I could to rest and heal quickly while packing and making arrangements for our pending move.  But it still wasn’t the same as working full time, I felt like I was on the sidelines watching everyone else.  I couldn’t even go shopping with my family when they came to visit.  My life had slowed to a crawl, a new and disconcerting experience for me.

Same with my sister, who on a recent visit, was convalescing on our couch.  I asked how she was doing that first morning of feeling sick, and she said she felt purposeless.  She wasn’t sure what she would be getting up for that day or the following day.  What was her life for at the moment?  All I know is that she continued to serve by editing hundreds of pictures for her friends and family.  And she continued to enrich her mind by reading.  She still checked in with friends across the country and world and spread encouragement and joy over the phone. I loved just having her around, I enjoyed her company.  She didn’t have to do anything, just having her with me at home for the day helped me relax and feel at ease while I went about my work. When she was upright and felt more herself, she served us in a million different significant ways, but even from a reclined position, even when she didn’t have her normal energy, she still made a difference in the lives of many.

I think back to the hours I spent sitting on the floor last fall with a friend who had hurt her back and couldn’t do much but lie on her blanket all day.  She was surprisingly chipper, alert, talkative, engaged, cheerful, and so enjoyable to be with.  Did she have reason to think she had nothing to give? Probably.  But she was such a fun conversationalist.  She played board games with her daughter.  She talked on the phone.  She hadn’t disappeared, she was still herself, full of personality and vibrancy.  She continued to serve simply be being herself and sharing her enthusiasm for life with all of us.

I think of our friends, one who was sick for months, and another who injured his leg.  Both felt out of sorts. They are normally always on the go, productive and busy, constantly serving others.  But to be tethered to home.  To a couch.  For long stretches of time.  They've reflected on how difficult those times were for them, I think in large measure because they couldn't help people the way they were used to and wanted to.  But they were available for long, long talks.  We'd invite ourselves over and do nothing but visit for hours.  They were as cheerful and upbeat as ever.  We felt happy just being with them in spite of their set-backs.

I imagine my grandma friend has felt sort of the same way because her health limits what she’s able to do; she struggles with balance and diabetes.  Just recently, though, she shared an experience that shows how valuable we all our, even at less than full speed.  Not long ago she had prayed to know how to serve with her limited capacity.  She had attended church with her family but ended sitting out in the foyer at with a grandchild when a young girl came and sat down next to her.  Before long they started talking and the girl shared her anxieties and concerns, one of which was that she’d just been diagnosed with diabetes herself. Think of the relief the little girl felt as my friend shared that she was a diabetic and had to give herself four shots a day.  As they continued talking, she helped allay this girl’s fears, and it became evident that this grandma, who felt she had nothing really to give at her stage, had been heaven-sent to her new young friend.

I have several other grandma friends and they are amazingly supportive in quiet ways.  I love the one who is a great grandma; her job at church has been to welcome the young kids to primary as their greeter. One may assume she had given her service, it was her turn to rest.  But think how calming it would be to be welcomed with a warm smile and a hug each week.  What a brilliant idea!

I can’t help but think of so many stories I’ve heard of people who continue to serve mightily, to make a significant difference to others, even in debilitating conditions, people who constantly use their energy and days to brighten the lives of others even as they are struggling themselves.

“Despite her illness [leukemia], Jenny continued to serve valiantly as the ward Relief Society president.  Even in her extremity, she made phone calls and sent texts and emails from her bed, and she invited sisters to come see her.  She mailed cards and notes to people, loving her sisters from a distance” (Linda Burton, Certain Women).

Just the other day a friend told of his mom who was in the hospital and how surprised he was that she knew all the nurse’s names.  And their spouses.  And the names of their kids. Wow! I’ve spent time in the hospital and have never thought to even ask.  Let alone remember any of it.  Such a simple way to acknowledge others and help them feel that someone cares.

One grandpa who was 105 years old “lives in a small care center but meets with his entire family each Sunday, where he delivers a gospel lesson” (President Monson, The Bridge Builder).

I have a couple other older friends who live in care centers.  Even as their minds and bodies fade, I love how cheerful and conversational they are.  They are easy to be with, and they help me see the world through their eyes.  I always leave feeling a little more hopeful and optimistic.

I love these examples of people who continue to serve in small and simple ways even as they suffer through pain or discomfort, when physical limits might dictate that they check out and focus on themselves for awhile.

It makes me wonder how we’re doing. And if we have purpose even when when we’re distracted or debilitated.

I have to heartily cry YES!  Our purpose on earth, regardless of our state of health or energy, is to learn and to love. Can we do that from a hospital bed, from a regular bed? Can we do that from the confines of a wheelchair or the confines of our homes? For sure.

Is it harder to care about what we’re learning from our trials when we’re in pain? When our hearts are breaking? When we feel all alone? Absolutely.  But what a valuable way to become more empathetic and compassionate. What better way to know how to serve a friend who’s on bedrest when you’ve been there yourself? How better to know that a new mom needs a visit and some company than remembering how isolated you felt yourself?

But more than just the learning from situations like these, we can use these experiences to continue to spread love.  That is what we’re to learn above all else from our time on earth.  And when we are down, unable to do our regular activities, we’re forced to really tune in to people in more subtle, perhaps more meaningful, ways.  When we’re moving a little slower and not as physically capable as we have been at other times in our lives, we just serve a little differently.  Maybe we can’t bring dinners or clean for a new mom, but we can call her, send her a love note, and encourage her in her significant role when she stops by.  We can ask how our friends are really doing.  And now we have time to listen, we’re not rushing around and we’re less distracted.

So yes, we still have purpose even when we’re sick or injured or in a weakened state of mind or body.  There is a reason for us to get out of bed (or at least wake up) and put on a smile.  Maybe our purpose is to be a quiet companion for someone.  Maybe it’s to summon our faith and pray for our friends who need help, a petition that someone will come to their aid in a way we can’t right now. Maybe it’s to share kind words that will lift someone’s spirits.  Maybe it’s to really see into a loved one’s soul.  Or a stranger’s eyes where we notice something amiss, maybe pain, and we offer hope and encouragement in just a few simple words. Maybe it’s cuddling with and reading a book to a child on the couch even when we’re sick.  Maybe it’s sharing wisdom acquired over many decades with a young adult who’s at a crossroads.  Maybe it’s as simple as listening with an open heart.  And crying with those who mourn.

In so many ways, in our struggles and pains, we’re still able to make a difference.  We’re able to fulfill our purposes in life.  We’re here to learn and to love.  Whatever our circumstances, every day can be fulfilling and full of purpose.