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 Leaving Tennis to Serena By Clarissa Worley Sproul
And whereas Wimbledon limits women to the best out of three and men, the best out of—is it six? This is not the case with the game played by us ordinary humans. Our matches have no suited bloke up in the high chair bringing the match to an end. They can go on for days, even weeks. Hey, I’ve met people who are still volleying hard on a match started years ago. And why on earth? Where on this planet do we find the silliness to whack the stuff back and forth ad nausea? I must say that why is a very valuable question to ask ourselves; I think we all deserve to know why. I have found that knowing the why about such a thing as this usually demystifies its power, shutting down the little motor that has kept it running against our better judgment all these years. So why on earth do we spar with our words? Why can a perfectly good and humane line of reasoning sent our way resurrect our worst habits of self-preservation and lead to an all-out verbal war? I think the answer is right there in the last half of the question. If I cannot hear what you are saying, it is probably that I think I need preserving, i.e. something you are saying I have translated into my consciousness as about me, and thus it’s potentially dangerous to my life, my person and maybe even my posterity. It matters not what is actually said, it matters not what the smiling person forming the words means or thinks, yes, and it doesn’t even matter if there’s some good that can come of it, if I translate your lyrics as an indictment against me, I might as well be dressed in uniform. Air raid sirens start blaring all over my psyche and I instinctively come to my own rescue. Simply put, I cannot listen to you and really hear you because I take what is all about you (you are the one speaking, after all) and I make it all about me. So it’s not that you’re having a rough patch, it’s that I’m at fault. It’s not that you’re all tanked up because there is some confusion and pain in your life, no; I’m the problem. For whatever the deeper reasons may be (which we hardly have time to address here) if I allow any of what you are seeking to express and unload to translate onto my personhood in any way, I will not be able to hear you. I will have to wall you out with a smash of words and counter-act your conversating with a few volleys about ME. It’s really very selfish, if you think about it for a while, and it’s also very sad, sad because we all desperately want to be heard and known. It's All About Me? What happens when I make your story about me is that you get lost in it all and you are never heard. I think this happens a lot to parents. Kids express their pain in weird (dare I say familiar) ways and we cannot sit down and listen and wipe their tears and let them rant, which is probably the most Jesus-like thing we could do—and highly beneficial. Instead we shut them up or down with words and even time in their rooms. They tell us about them and we argue back about ourselves! Yes, and why? I’d have to contend that it is because we cannot hear their pain and confusion without making it about us and ours. And so the tennis lessons start early. Instead of your revelation about you being heard, I argue about you with a word about me. Can you see the insanity of it? In Matthew 15:18 Jesus actually pointed out very clearly that what comes out of a person's mouth was actually what was in their heart, not mine. It makes good sense what Jesus said. You are saying it, yes, so then it must be a reflection of you and your feelings. This means that no matter how negative it is or how many times my name is looped into the story you’re telling, it’s not about me! Even if you take on a blaming tone (and we all do this way too much) and vilify the characters in your story—and I’m in your story—it’s still your heart speaking, not mine, so I don’t need to fight back for my honor. It’s still not about me! I’ve always known that Jesus was wise and His teachings on us humans could clear the air in the noisiest of relationships, and yet I remain in awe. Jesus, for every why I’ve asked, has a slip of a sentence here or there that sets things straight. For this I remain grateful. Yes, and so are all my friends and family. I don’t think they miss my serves at all, not to mention my silly tennis outfits. Visit Life Notes ______________________________ Clarissa Worley Sproul writes from the Pacific Northwest. All rights reserved © 2010 AnswersForMe.org. Click here for content usage information. |
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