Finding another way in...

Sitting on the couch, an expressive little boy comes up beside me, talking a mile a minute.  The look on his face is so earnest; he longs to be understood.  But he's speaking Spanish, and I don't understand a word.

Standing in the Family Center, I am beside a beautiful woman with a bright smile.  She's so expressive when she speaks, even her eyes smile, trying to get her point across.  But she's speaking Kurdish, and I don't understand a word.

Showing images on a screen, I explain some of the photographic techniques we'll cover that day.  The boys sitting in rows of chairs are listening closely, craving the information.  They ask questions that the translator answers, because I don't understand a word of Kurdish.

In the last few weeks I've come to realize just how important listening is for me.  It is my way of making connection, of being in relationship.  I long to hear stories, and to see each one played out on the face of the speaker.  I'm trying (though it's slow) to speak less, and listen more.  Sometimes presence is enough.  Sometimes a hug. But sometimes being heard and understood is the only thing.

I used to think that being heard was enough.  Now I know it isn't.