At the risk of wearing out my welcome
At the risk of self-discovery
I’ll take every moment
Every minute that you give to me© Sara Groves
One of the things that makes me an irksome girl is this insatiability; I really will take every minute you give to me, and I really do risk wearing out my welcome. I’ve learned to be suspicious of myself in this way, to be on the lookout for signs of that welcome wearing thin. It gets me a little paranoid, because I think I ought to assume I’m not welcome unless you make it really clear that I am. Yeah. I’m a high maintenance kind of friend.
Our church is in the middle of a sermon series on spiritual disciplines. This Sunday we talked about the disciplines of silence and solitude. Solitude is seeking out time to be alone with God, without distractions. It’s not the same thing as loneliness. It’s not a discipline for all times — it’s not the same thing as isolation. Silence is, of course, refraining from speech. This can be practiced alone — sometimes prayer should be listening — or in community.
I don’t usually like silence. Social silence arouses my paranoid suspicions; it looks like a sign of wearing out my welcome. Silence can feel like death, when I am full of thoughts and feelings and believe I am not allowed to share them with anyone.
On the other hand I know I talk too much, and I’m often trying to be more silent. Sometimes it’s because talking too much means I’m not loving well. Sometimes it’s because talking too much is self-sabotage, when I’m betraying myself to people who don’t love me well.
This song of Sara’s moves me, because it suggests the kind of friend whose welcome I really can’t wear out, and the kind of friend who values my self-discovery and growth. Someone I don’t have to stop and think, why am I saying this, they don’t really want to hear this. Someone who isn’t going to feel bombarded by my stream of consciousness. Someone who isn’t going to roll their eyes and tell me how I should think less and not over-analyze everything. Maybe even someone who will be interested enough to ask questions and make comments.
I want friends like that. I miss them. I have some — but they’re not here, and email and letters and phone calls aren’t quite the same, though I value them highly.
I sometimes suspect that having a friend like that will make me more able to be a friend like that. Without an outlet — a receiver, really — for my own thoughts and feelings, there’s not much room for anyone else’s. Without a well, it’s hard to be gushing with water. This is certainly true in the spiritual realm. The more connected I am with Jesus, the more I will love him and others. But I suspect that having a non-divine friend like that would help a lot, too.
Then again, perhaps the Lord has brought me to this friend wilderness to help me connect more deeply with him, knowing that even the best non-divine friends are finite and limited, not to mention temptations to idolatry.
OH are we kindred spirits! and since all my friends have moved away, this post really hits home. LOVE Sara Groves, btw!!!!! I think “Less Like Scars” is my get happy song…. (((((HUGS))))) sandi
Comment by (((((HUGS))))) sandi — March 16, 2008 @ 9:43 pm
Sandi, my mother-in-law got me Sara Groves’ new one, and there’s a song on there called Love is Still a Worthy Cause — I haven’t taken time to read through all the lyrics, but the gist of it seems to be that it’s worth making the effort to love people even when it costs or seems hopeless. I like it.
One thing that’s great about having moved here is that I have a few folks I can talk to, and one in particular. They’re all busy with their own kids, so it’s not like a welcome that can’t wear out, but it’s still a very big something.
Comment by Marcy — March 17, 2008 @ 7:46 am