It was a
three-day team meeting. We were having discussion sessions, free time to
explore the natural beauty surrounding us, lectures, and presentations. And
something else: private one-on-one sessions with a consultant on people’s
differences and how we respond to them.
These one-on-one
sessions were a big deal. We had completed an extensive questionnaire before
the meeting. And we had been assessed on how well we related to others, and to
others who were different.
This wasn’t some
standard program on diversity. The team was fairly diverse – different races,
ages, genders, experiences and socio-economic backgrounds. We were also more of
a virtual team. And I was the oldest – a Baby Boomer white male. You can imagine
what my expectations were. But I had answered the questions as thoughtfully as
I could, and with careful (and truthful) consideration.
The one-on-one
sessions caused no little anxiety for all of us. We would each receive what
would be a different assessment, given during a one-on-one meeting over the
course of the three days. Mine was scheduled toward the end.
As each session
was held, I could see a variety of reactions. A couple of the women smiled and shrugged,
but said little. A few said it was okay. One individual said nothing. Another
muttered something about being a total Neanderthal.
My session
arrived. The consultant went over my assessment. Whatever I was expecting, I
was not expecting what she told me.
“It’s unusual to
see a rating like this,” she said. “You’re as high or higher than the team
lead, who’s been working on this for three years.”
I was an
anomaly. A surprising one. An older white male who had surprising empathy for
people who were different.
It took some
discussion with the consultant and some personal consideration afterward to
understand why.
Part of the
reason was life experiences. My childhood years in the segregated South
coincided with the massive social changes underway for both blacks and whites. My
high school had experienced riots when it was integrated. My university days
were marked by all of the various protest movement of the late 1960s and 1970s.
My experiences in corporate America had taught me that corporate life was, on
balance, normally unfair and not a merit-based system – and how much time I had
spent trying to cushion that for the people who worked with me and for me.
But the biggest reason
as what had happened to my heart. Since I had become a Christian in 1973, my
heart had been taught, wounded, encouraged, discouraged, disciplined, and exhilarated.
Almost without realizing it, I had listened to my heart and what God spoke to
it and to me.
In Heart
Made Whole: Turning Your Unhealed Pain into Your Greatest Strength, Christa Black Gifford describes the
four “languages of the heart” that we all have – thoughts, words, emotions, and
actions. Each of these languages is important, and each helps shape who we are
and what we become.
“Listen to the
heart God gave you today, beautiful friend,” Gifford writes. “ “Listen with
grace like He does, and you will understand. Watch to see what kinds of
thoughts, words, emotions, and actions are residing in your heart. And instead
of swinging an axe at your sin and struggling in the name of devotion to God,
why don’t you hand your axe to Him and see what He wants to do?”
In my case, what
these actions had told me again and again was the importance of listening.
Led by Jason
Stasyszen and Sarah Salter, we’re reading Heart
Made Whole. Consider reading along and join in the discussion. To see what
others are saying about this chapter, “The Languages of the Heart,” please
visit Jason at Connecting to Impact.
2 comments:
The importance of listening . . . Yes, God definitely has a way of waking us up to the language of our hearts when we let Him in.
What an amazing story you tell here, Glynn! Thanks for the inspiration and the reminder to let go and let God.
Such an interesting story, Glynn! Our experiences shape us in so many ways and an encounter with our Savior is transformational. I've worked myself to the bone with that axe in the past. Definitely ready to listen... Thanks Glynn.
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