Patience

I am not, by nature, a very patient person, which means that I tend to jump before I think and talk before I think. However, this lack of “thinking” is not the real essence of patience. Patience is much about feeling. If you have followed our recent blogs, specifically over the past year, you have noted that we have put a central emphasis on this whole matter of feeling, noting importantly that feeling is very foundational to who we are as humans and even more central in our relationships. Feelings, however, are impossible to define and very hard to describe. Yet feelings affect all that we do, whether work, play, thinking, planning, executing our plans, or just hanging out. I invite you to note your feelings and how they affect what you think, say, and do. Importantly, feelings are not the same as emotion, as we describe in our recent book, I Want to Tell You How I Feel.  Rather, emotion is a subset of feelings. specifically, I “feel” something in my inner core which first has a physical/body effect, then an emotional effect, and then a thought, which can then be reflected in what I say or do. We all have this same process: physical, emotional, cognitive, and active, but depending on our psychological natures, we tend to express our feelings in one of these genres. I will leave this discussion and focus on the emotional part of “feelings” as I attempt to describe this important “feeling” of patience.

It’s all Greek to me

Deb and I had the privilege (and chore) of attending seminary where we learned Greek, which was the original language in which the New Testament was written (The Jewish Scriptures, often called the Old Testament, was mostly written in Hebrew). So, to really study biblical statements, one needs to have at least a rudimentary understanding of Greek, which by the way is quite easy to learn once you learn the Greek alphabet, which by the starts with the letters alpha and beta. In my study of the New Testament I ran across many significant differences in words that when translated into English, sometimes lost their original meaning. For instance, there is a passage in the New Testament book of Galatians where the Apostle Paul says that we need to be careful not to have too much pride, but 3 verses later says that we need to have pride. A quick study of the passage, however, reveals, that the author actually uses two different Greek words that are both translated “pride,” but are, in fact quite different. The first “pride” word means thinking you are better than someone else, whereas the second “pride” word means thinking you are better than you were in the past. So Paul is not saying that you shouldn’t have personal pride, or confidence, but rather that we should avoid comparing ourselves to others, as the anonymous author of Desiderata says, “…and don’t compare yourself to others or you will become vain or bitter.” Enough of pride. Now on to patience. There are two words translated patience, and they are profoundly different: makrothumia and hupomeno.

Makrothumia

You can actually pick out what at least part of this words means, namely the “makro” part. Makro in Greek means “much” or “many”. What does thumia mean? It means passion, or it could be translated as purpose, desire, or even lust. The most dramatic use of the word makrothumia occurs in a very well-known biblical passage in another Pauline book First Corinthians, namely the beginning of chapter 13 where Paul says, “Love is patient and kind (and a few other things). This “patience” word is makrothumia. In fact, in the Authorized Version of the Bible, usually called the King James, the translators translated makrothumia as “long suffering,” which is actually closer to the meaning of makrothumia than what we think of when we talk of patience. So what?

So, if you follow me, to be patient, at least in the biblical view of patience, is to suffer. Wait a minute, isn’t patience a kind of peace of mind, careful thinking, and just waiting your turn. Nothing of the kind. Patience, at least in I Corinthians 13 is quite the opposite. It has nothing to do with peace of mind and waiting “patiently.” Makrothumia is wanting something very much and suffering in the wanting, in the not having, and in the unknown factor of when you will get what you want, or if you will ever get what you want. So, forget about being patient if you think patience is just thinking and sitting on a rock. It is nothing of the kind. Patience, real patience is truly passionate. It is often filled with love, potential loss of love, and feeling quite upset that you don’t have what you love.

You want to be patient? No, you don’t. You want what you want, and you want it now. Sound familiar? Nothing wrong with wanting, nothing at all because wanting is love-based. I love something and I want it, or I don’t want to lose it. Join the crowd. This wanting, craving, desiring, and passion doesn’t mean you yell and scream (unless you are acting like a 4-year old who is learning that she can’t have most of what she wants because she wants too much and is just out of the first couple years of life where she got pretty much all she wants). Patience is suffering; it is painful; it can be awful. And it ends. How it ends is not necessarily up to you, but patience ends calmly, but most importantly, you can be patient for a very long time, even years. not so with hupameno.

Hupameno

This Greek word, usually translated “patience” probably should be translated “endurance” or even “surviving.” Note that hupomeno is much different form makrothumia. The word hupameno is comprised of two other Greek words that make understanding of the word much clearer. Hupo means under, while meno means something like standing. So the visual picture of hupameno is standing under something, like a weight. Consider the picture of your standing under some kind of weight, like a big huge sack of bricks, or worse yet, something that is so heavy that you will most certainly be able to stand under the weight for very long. This is the essence of hupameno: you can’t stand it forever. Rather, when you are exercising this kind of patience, you are surviving, perhaps for some good reason or unforeseen reason, but you most certainly are not looking forward to anything other than getting out from under this weight.

This kind of patience, or endurance, calls for stamina to survive under the weight of something that is very heavy or even dangerous. The heaviness or dangerousness of this weight could, indeed, be physical, but it is more than likely personal or interpersonal. Personal weights could be as simple as working hard for an exam that is coming up, dealing with an intolerable boss at work, or waiting for some kind of danger to pass. Interpersonal weights could be as serious as a divorce action that is being brought against you against your will, or some kind of intolerable marriage that you must survive for some good reason. You might need to survive a time when you are living on little or nothing because you can’t afford it, together with all the bill collectors calling you daily. You might need to endure the cold in your house because you can’t afford to turn on the furnace or perhaps because you don’t have a furnace. You might need to sit before some kind of panel of individuals who judge you unfairly where it is unwise for you to say anything in your defense. All of these examples, and many more that might have happened in your life are weighty, or even dangerous. An important ingredient of this hupomeno kind of patience/endurance is that there may be no visible end to the suffering that you need to endure, which only makes this kind of patience all the more difficult. It’s not always easy to see the value of makrothumia kind of patience, but it nearly impossible to see the value of hupomeno kind of patience. In fact, both have profit

The profit of patience

Get the picture of these very different kinds of patience? One kind of patience is love-based and looking forward to having something that you want, and perhaps need, and this is a time that is very passionate. We can patiently wait until the date of a wedding, graduation, or the teenagers finally going to college. This is waiting for something to happen that is worth the wait. It is much harder to patiently wait for something to end that has no intrinsic value. It is valuable for kids to wait until Christmas to open presents as it is good for kids to learn to wait for dinner, for school to end, or for a vacation. The profit in waiting for something good to occur builds character and allows you to muse about what you love and what you can love. At this very moment I am waiting to see my daughter, Jenny, who we will be seeing tomorrow (if the snow lets up). This kind of patience only endears me to Jenny and broadens my love for her. In fact, all makrothumia kinds of patience are good for you, if not easy to wait for. The more important the goal of waiting, which usually means the deeper the love we have for something, the greater is the value, the profit of patient waiting. Recall, however, that makrothumia kind of patience can be very difficult, even the cause of suffering.

Hupomeno-like patience, endurance does not have such a lofty goal. Endurance is difficult and weighty, and perhaps it is just surviving until the wait is over. This kind of patience is surviving, not thriving. Yet there is profit in hupomeno patience. It teaches you the occasional necessity of survival for its own sake. I had a tooth extracted a few weeks ago, not something that I looked forward to, and not something that I could really profit from except that my infected tooth might now be tone. For the most part I endured the experience because it was necessary. I can now look back at this experience and see that I could do it again if necessary, which might very well be given that old men tend to lose their teeth. If you ever played high school football, you might remember the August football practices in 100 degree heat that you needed to endure. Not pleasant, but there is profit in some things. While football practice or losing a tooth might have some visible profit in the end, there are times when you simply need to endure something that has no profit but to stay alive. There is an important element of psychological literature suggesting that some kinds of endurance of awful things can built self-confidence in the face of adversity. Perhaps you survived poverty, an authoritarian boss, or even an abusive parent, and as a result you have a certain resilience to adversity in general.

I must comment on the obvious: things are not so clear as to suggest there is no overlap between makrothumia and hupomeno kinds of patience. There are occasions where they combine in some areas of life or even co-exist. I find myself experiencing mostly hupomeno patience during the wait until the presidential election and installation is finally over. It has been a challenge, something that I have endured for the most part, but I think this wait has also been good for me as I have had to challenge the useless anxiety and worry about the final outcome.

One final thought regarding this murky distinction between these two kinds of patience. What I call makrothumia patience is always good for you. This means that it is always good to wait for something that is good. There is a danger, however, of engaging in patience when you should engage in action. You can wait all day for the guy to call you, but maybe you should call him. He just might have lost your number. You can wait for someone to knock on your door and offer you a lucrative job, but maybe you need to go to work at the Kwik Trip until you can find that perfect job. On the other hand, hupomeno is not always good for you and not always necessary. There are times, places, and people who are truly dangerous. You might need to back out of such things for your survival. It might be good for some people to like on a plank of nails, but it might not be good for you.

Take care, be patient as much as possible and as much as necessary. Endure what needs to be endured and in so-doing develop self-confidence and resilience. You need to know “when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em.” Or as AA suggests, “change what you can change, accept what you cannot change, and develop the wisdom to know the difference.”

And, Happy New Year!!

Different Kinds of “I’m Sorry”

“I’m sorry:” a very important statement. Very, very important. Most people should be able to express these words at least once a day, and possibly several times a day. But what does “I’m sorry” mean, or more accurately what can it mean? For some reason “I’m sorry” has fallen into disuse in America, and perhaps it was never part of our character the way it seems to be in most every other culture. There are many aspects of “I’m sorry” that I would like to tackle in this humble piece, but let’s start with different kinds of “I’m Sorry.”

Different Kinds of “I’m Sorry”

I have continued to put “I’m sorry” in quotation marks because “I’m sorry” does not entirely equate with apology, nor should it. There are at least the following meanings of the expression “I’m sorry:”

  • Apology. When I apologize for something, this is a personal acknowledgement that I have failed in some action, although this apology could also be for some inaction on my part, namely something I have said, something I have done, something I have failed to say, or something I have failed to do.
  • Shared grief. This is an occurrence where I express this statement to someone with whom I share the grief that the person is experiencing. I may have caused this grief or the grief may have come from another source.
  • Disingenuous statement. This occurs when someone says “I’m sorry” with an important caveat…BUT. Hence, this is the frequently occurring, “I’m sorry but…,” then to be filled with some kind of justification or disregard.

Apologies

It is an extremely important element in human-to-human interaction, to be able to apologize when one has erred in what s/he did or said (or as noted, when one has erred in failing to say or do something). For example, it is important to say “I’m sorry” when you might have:

  • Stepped in front of someone in line, probably by accident
  • Failed to remember an occasion that was important to the other person, while it might not have been important to you. Likewise, you might be late for a dinner engagement even though you are not a person known for being prompt.
  • Making a statement that was offensive to someone, perhaps by using a swear word that is common to you and to your community but not common to your friend.
  • Bumping into the car in front of you.
  • Raising your voice in a discussion that led to an argument rather than a debate
  • Failing to express yourself when you had an important opinion that might have served the community but caused you to be disliked by someone
  • Disregarding someone’s preferred way of table manners because you didn’t think that such things were important.

Most of the time I have offended, hurt, or harmed someone, I have done this unintentionally.

I didn’t mean to do it

Of course, you didn’t mean to do it. You offended someone in some way, such as the ways I have noted above unintentionally, which is a very important fact. Once you get this concept in your mind, namely that you didn’t mean to hurt someone, you will have achieved the first and most important element in being able to apologize.

I often note that the Hebrew Scriptures’ book of Leviticus is comprised of about 450 “rules” of life. Notably, every one of these rules has to do with “sin,” but more importantly for our purposes, every one of these rules begins with, “If you sin by…. (fill in the blank) unintentionally, you must make amends for this sin by….” For instance, if you sin by sleeping with your neighbor’s wife, you must make amends in some way….  The essence of this matter of sin and the result is twofold: you have caused some harm to someone, and you need to make amends for this harm in some way. Most importantly, however, these “sins” (we do not have time to unpack this interesting biblical word) are all unintentional…with the exception of one “sin”: intentional sin. For all these 400-some sins, Leviticus (Actually God speaking in Leviticus) suggests that there are ways for atonement or reparation. I believe all of these “sins” are ones what involve offense brought to another person in some way. But there is one “sin” that is quite different: “If anyone sins intentionally…,” the situation is quite different. Such a person is to be thrown out of the community. Now, while I might not quite understand or even agree with throwing someone out of the community, whatever community that might be, it is interesting to me that all but one of these 400-some sins are unintentional. I believe this is the case for most things we do that offend, hurt, or harm other people: we unintentionally bring harm to someone. Sadly, I can recall scores, if not hundreds, of times when I have brought offense to people over my nearly 77 years of life. You might read my blog of a few years ago on my regrets for some examples of my errors in life, which are many.

The times when people intentionally hurt one another are almost always in reaction to having been hurt. I wrote a blog entitled, “Hurt People Hurt People,” borrowing the title for a book published 30 years ago. When someone intentionally says or does something to hurt or harm the other person, these are times when one has been hurt her/himself and has had a kneejerk reaction to “hurt back,” usually not knowing that the original person who inflicted hurt on you did not hurt you intentionally. So I won’t waste much time with this intentional kind of hurt, which should result in an apology with the words, “I’m sorry.” When we hurt someone who has hurt us, this is a reaction of anger coming from having been hurt, much of our (unintentionally) hurting someone comes from fear. These are tough situations that we all find ourselves in our human relationships. It behooves us to realize that when we hurt someone intentionally, it is almost always in reaction to having been hurt. Much more frequently, however, we have hurt someone out of naiveté or ignorance.

Hurt inflicted out of naiveté or ignorance

The mistakes of our youth should largely be classified as those of naiveté (or ignorance), feeling, “I just didn’t know that if I said a certain thing, I would hurt or offend someone.” Growing up should include maturity in understanding the effect of what I say or do. Extraverts like me can look at the things we said that were hurtful that we shouldn’t have said, whereas introverts more likely will see things that they should have said that could have been helpful. Doers like me will see things that we shouldn’t have done, whereas dreamers will see things that they should have done. I shouldn’t have got married (the first time). Several people I know would say that they should have got married. These failures of youth are understandable and forgivable but some such mistakes have lifelong results. I know a lot more people who shouldn’t have got married than I do people who should have got married.

It’s not only young people who say or do things that hurt someone else. We do that all the time. Deb and I devoted an entire chapter in our recent book to the central concept of hurt. If we really knew how often we hurt people, we would all be a lot more careful if what we say or do, but then we wouldn’t be human if we watched everything that carefully. As noted above, introverts tend to watch so carefully what they say, that their errors are usually in not saying what they feel. This whole matter of our hurting one another frequently and being hurt just as frequently is not to be taken too lightly. We just need to be able to see that we have unintentionally hurt someone and be ready to say so. This does not mean we go around being apologetic all the time, but rather being able to simply see what something that was said or done (or failed to be said or failed to be done) out of naiveté needs to be seen, understood, and apologized for. But it is hard to do so.

Why is it hard to apologize?                                                                     

I didn’t mean to do it. This is the whole matter of hurt being unintentional for the most part. I often say to patients, “Of course, you didn’t mean to hurt her, but you did, and you need to apologize.” Not many men take kindly to this advice.

She shouldn’t be hurt by what I said. Again, you didn’t mean to hurt her, but you did, and the most important emotional element is not what you said, meant to say, or thought you said, but what she felt.

I feel ashamed of having hurt someone. This is the largest part of the difficulty in apologizing and it exists in every person I have ever met. The shame level that exists in most people in tragic, and it comes out when we are “caught” in some way, very often caught in having hurt someone. I don’t have time to deal with the shame element more here, but you might look up the blog on shame and guilt.

I am afraid. The essence of shame is being afraid, namely being afraid of being wrong or being criticized. Unfortunately, there is a terrible fear in most people of being wrong, of making mistakes, or being criticized. True maturity, especially emotional maturity, is displayed with someone being unafraid of mistakes or criticism. I don’t know anyone who has reached this level of emotional maturity…including myself.

The other person doesn’t deal well with it. While some people graciously accept an apology, there is an odd phenomenon that occurs with the offended party when the offender offers an apology: they then say all the other things that the offender has done. So, if you apologize to someone, be prepared for an onslaught of criticism of all your other mistakes in life.

You said or did the right thing. This is real important. There are times when you actually say or do the right thing, but this right thing still hurts your friend. This phenomenon is clear with children whom we chastise, limit, or punish but then feel sad because we know that our child is suffering. This having done or said the right thing that hurts someone is not limited to children. Good leaders, whether professional, familial, or professional, need to challenge, hence criticize from time to time. It behooves a good leader to know that however true the challenge is, the person hearing the challenge will be hurt. And if you’re a leader, you need to say “I’m sorry” to them. This brings me to the second kind of “I’m sorry:” shared grief.

“I’m sorry” as an expression of shared grief

This may be the most important of all “I’m sorry” statements, but it is the hardest to grasp, especially in some circumstances. It is sometimes easy to share grief, sometimes difficult, and sometimes very paradoxical. If done honorably, honestly, and clearly, it can be one of the most profound interpersonal experiences that we can have.

Sometimes easy: in a previous blog I related the several experiences of having someone share the grief that Deb and I experienced after the death of our daughter. Some of these experiences were simple, like the Starbuck’s barista hearing from Deb of our loss immediately coming the counter and giving a Deb a hug…along with a free espresso, or the many simple expressions of grief that people have shared with me over the past 15 months, sometimes after these 15 months have passed because I hadn’t had the chance of seeing someone for that period of time. Other expressions of shared grief have been quite profound like the woman we met by chance at the headwaters of the Mississippi in northern Minnesota, the woman we met by chance at the top of the learning tower of Pisa in Italy, or the woman we met by chance not far from our up north cabin on a hike that Krissie, her kids, and we used to take. In all of these circumstances, when we made a simple comment about our loss, these previously unknown women cried, hugged us, and said those precious words, “I’m so sorry.” I hope you have experienced this kind of shared grief, whether on the giving or the receiving side. It is easy to give and it is easy to receive…but not always.

Sometimes difficult.

It is often difficult for people to share grief because they simply do not know what to say. Some people say too much while others say nothing. Our “up north” neighbor heard of our loss while we happened to pass each other on the lake we share. This woman must have said, “I don’t know what to say” a dozen times within minutes of hearing of our loss. Interestingly, she shared how she had lost a young child 40 years previously. Another person whom I know quite well is yet unable to say much of anything because he also lost a son, not six months before Krissie died. His grief is so great that he has a hard time even mentioning our daughter by name, much less the name of his son. It was difficult for a new patient I saw just a few months ago, and he said nothing when I made reference to “loss” in the context of my hearing of his losses in life. Later, he told me that he “didn’t know what to say” because he didn’t want to sound disingenuous. He later said, quite simply, that he has never been particularly good at expressing any emotion aside from anger, a plague that many men suffer. The difficulty that people have with saying “I’m sorry,” whether for someone’s loss like our recent loss, or because they have causes some hurt, is often due to a combination of not having emotional words at their disposal, but more often due to their own lack of personal emotional groundedness. Personal groundedness is hallmarked primarily by knowing how you feel, expressing these feelings when appropriate to do so, and frequently knowing the feelings but wisely keeping the feelings to oneself out of propriety. Simply put, one can express shared grief if one knows and values what he/she feels. If this is the case, one can share the love of shared grief without hesitation. Sadly, many people do not have this personal security.

Sharing grief that is paradoxical

This is one of the most important times that we can share grief but it is rarely experienced because of its very paradoxical nature and because it takes an immense amount of personal security. Sharing grief with someone who has suffered some kind of loss is easy if you can easily find some kind of human connectedness, but it very difficult to share grief with someone who has suffered a loss that you think is a good thing. It is hard to share the grief that I child has when you discipline him or her. I just talked to the parents of a child for whom I did a psychological evaluation. One of my suggestions was to replace the shame-inducing rhetorical questions, like “what’s wrong with you” with statements of being disappointed. One of these parents then said, but our child gets so hurt and sad when you say that you are disappointed. Better that you and your child feel “disappointed,” which is tantamount to feeling sad, then you’re being angry and your child feeling ashamed.

Hard as it is to share grief with a child that is necessary, it is ten times harder to share grief with an adult who has suffered some kind of loss that you think is good for him or her. This is hard to explain so allow me to give you an example. Just yesterday I heard from a good friend of mine with whom I share just three years of life, namely those of being in the same fraternity house in college. I didn’t see Jack for more than 40 years until he somehow found me on LinkedIn about 10 years ago, leading to occasional get-togethers and a rare time playing golf. It was easy to reconnect with Jack because we share much the same faith (while not exactly) and are both outgoing and expressive. It was hard for Jack to hear that I intended to vote for Hillary four years ago and even harder for him to hear that I intended to vote for Biden this year. Jack is part of the 70 some percent of evangelical Christians who vote for Republicans regardless of anything else aside from their political persuasion. Jack and I have had some forthright, but challenging email connections over the past few months due to the huge emotionality in the country over the recent election. His most recent email expressed his dismay over Trump’s loss. I found it a challenge, but also honest for me to tell him that I was “sorry” for his loss and shared his grief. I must admit I had some consternation over saying “I’m sorry” to Jack because I was so relieved that Trump did not get reelected, but I acknowledged my own joy at this defeat privately to myself while also feeling a genuine love for Jack and feeling compelled to share his grief. When I told Deb what I had written to Jack, she was a bit concerned how that might seem that I was sad that Biden won, which I most certainly was not. I suggested that this was an example of paradoxical sharing of grief. I could feel joyful that Biden won on the one hand, while on the other feel great sorrow with my good friend for his having to put up a forthcoming Biden presidency.

I do not always act or speak so generously, but why would I not do so? Only if I was unable to free myself from my own self-interest and be more interested in my friend. Consider this most difficult situation, this paradoxical situation, where you are glad that something happened, but feel a shared sorrow for someone who feels quite distressed about the same event. This can seem ingenuous, but it is not. There is, however, a truly ingenuous “I’m sorry.”

Ingenuous “I’m sorry.”

The key identifying words to ingenuous apologies are “Well” and “but.” Let me explain. An ingenuous expression of “I’m sorry” begins with one word soon to be followed by the other, e.g., “Well, I’m sorry, but….” Do you know what I mean? This is the expression that many people, you included, I included, have said when we are not sorry at all. Rather, we use “I’m sorry” meaning quite the opposite. Had I been ingenuous with Jack, I could have said, “Well, Jack, I’m sorry but Trump is an idiot.” I have said such things, but happily many years ago, and now I am ashamed for that must egregious indiscretion and lack of love. I won’t now to choose to spend much time with ingenuous expressions except to note that they also originate from one’s lack of genuine self-esteem and certainly a lack of an ability to reach beyond one’s own feelings to understand the other person. With my experience with Jack, I can reach into my recovering Republican nature and see much good in conservative politics, but more importantly, my love for Jack is more important than my feeling of joy with Biden’s victory.

I leave you with the suggestion that you consider saying “I’m sorry” in the more positive ways and feel the joy that comes from honest apologies and shared griefs. By the way, you don’t actually have to say these exact words, I’m sorry. You might prefer “my bad,” which is all the more contemporary, the mea culpa that is classic, or other cognates of the feelings that occur when someone is hurt, mistaken, or criticized,

You Taught Me How to Love You

I knew a therapist who composed a song with this title in reference to his own therapist. This song reflected how his therapist had, indeed, taught him how to love. Recently, I had an experience with a patient that reminded me of a person who served as a therapist for me albeit in a somewhat informal way. This person was Dr. Vernon Grounds, a professor of pastoral care and the president of Denver Seminary where I was finishing my last year of seminary before I went to graduate school. The academic year was 1968-1969, which might stir some memories of this important time of life in America with assassinations, the Viet Nam war, protests against the war, and the sexual revolution. It was an important time for me because I was coming to a formulation of what I believed about life, God, people, and myself, a project that has continued over these ensuing 50 years. I had thought to some degree about these important matters somewhat during my previous 25 years but nothing like I did during this year. It was a year of great learning, great thought, and sorrow. For some reason Dr. Grounds invited me to breakfast one morning, which then turned out to be a regular invitation that he made for me for the entire academic year. These many breakfast meetings always had the aforementioned elements in our discussion: life, God, people, and me. I consider these hours as ones of personal therapy although I didn’t realize that at the time. Dr. Grounds remains the kindest, most intelligent, most integrated, and most deeply spiritual person I have ever had the opportunity to know although I have also had the opportunity of known many other significant figures who have been instructive in my life. These would include other therapists, professors, religious leaders, relatives, and friends, but none has touched my soul as did Dr. Grounds. Having recently been reminded of the song written by someone I knew many years ago, “You Taught Me How to Love You,” I realized that Dr. Grounds did just that: he taught me how to love him, and in so doing, he taught me how to love. I offer the following humble words with deep appreciation:

He taught me how to love him.

He taught me about God

He taught me about people

He taught me about life

He taught me about myself

 

He taught me how to think,

He taught me how to feel.

He taught me how to speak.

He taught me how to love.

 

He taught me these things with the purest of love for me.

He loved me so perfectly that he didn’t have to say it.

All I noticed when we parted was that was somehow different.

The difference? I was loved

I didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t pay it back. But I needed it.

 

He taught me how to love him “because he loved me first.”

 

 

We therapists have a tremendous privilege, something that is often in my mind and frequently something I say when I am with a patient. The privilege of people’s stories, their thoughts, their actions, and most importantly, their feelings—this is a very special opportunity for all of us in this odd trade, which is composed of mostly listening and then a measured response. How many times have I heard, “Well, I’ve never told anyone this….” And the things that they have never told anyone are not largely those of facts or actions, but of feelings…”feelings,” that undefined central experience of being human. I hear feelings in the form of silence and chatter, of pain and pleasure, and of thought and action. But when I hear these real feelings, often something the person has just discovered, felt, and said, I am moved. I am privileged. These many hours of therapy—but not all—are ones where I have the privilege of loving someone in a special way because I have heard, seen, and felt the person’s feelings.

It has occurred to me, much due to a recent therapeutic hour that I had with someone that I have also had the privilege of enlivening a person’s own capacity to love. This most recent encounter was with someone who said, “I love you Ron” and then quickly added, “No, it is more than that. I love you so much.” What a privilege to be loved by someone, a love that I don’t deserve, can’t pay back, but something that I need. Yes, need. I don’t need to be loved by a specific person, a mistake that many people make, but I do need to be loved. It is always humbling. It is always special. It is always godly. And I never expect it.

I leave you with this thought for your consideration: who has taught you how to love? Whom did you find yourself loving because he/she first loved you?