Hearing

Sometimes I come away from a conversation feeling listened to, but not heard. There's this vague sense of frustration that my words are not penetrating, that there's some invisible fog, either in my brain or theirs, that is preventing our mutual understanding. My usual response is to say the same thing over and over again, just in different words, but it's usually about as successful as trying to open a safe by guessing random combinations.

It makes me wonder how people feel when they walk away from me.

It makes me wonder how God feels when He tries to talk to me.

It makes me wonder if there are different levels to all the senses. You can glance over an art piece, or you can dive in and really see it. You can rush through a meal, or you can sit and really taste it. We rush through our lives trying to pack in as much pleasure as possible, yet hurry and impatience seem to kill so much of the real thing. Somewhere, there must be a special demon in charge of Hurry.