Inviting Joy

Saying less and receiving more

I’ve been thinking about suffering and its relationship to joy. A significant pathway to finding joy in suffering comes when those who suffer find each other and connect through vulnerable, authentic relationships.

But even though I believe that authentic relationships are essential to healing, it can be hard to find or create them. In his book, In Search of God’s Will,*¹ author Trevor Hudson shares that one of his friends writes “YBH” into the margins of the books he reads. When Hudson asked the meaning of these letters, his friend told him that the letters ask the question, “Yes, but how?”

I’m making YBH notes all over my life these days. I need to trust God more, worry less and get some rest. YBH. Frankly, connecting with a friend for an open and honest conversation might be just the thing. But I find myself asking “Yes, but how?”

It’s not that easy to find someone who will set aside their own anxiety and help me lift my eyes above the hubbub around me. I’m tempted to believe that I have to hold on tight until I can find just the right friend to hear me out and offer a word of comfort. But as I try to manage the stress around me, I’m becoming convinced that the best way to find that friend begins with me choosing to be that friend.

A little quiz

With this in mind, I decided to give myself a little quiz. I imagined that I was talking with a friend or acquaintance. My partner was telling me about a particularly difficult situation that was causing them pain. I asked myself which of the following internal responses were the most likely for me?

1. I know what they’re going through, this situation is so much like what I’ve experienced. I should tell them about what happened to me.

2. If I were them, I know exactly what I would do. I’m sure I can help them solve this.

3. I don’t know what to tell them, but I am so sorry to hear that things are so hard.

4. I’m wondering how this is impacting my friend’s life right now. I want to understand how the situation is affecting them.

5. I’m noticing my friend’s tone of voice, body language and some of the phrases they use to describe the situation. I’m wondering if they are aware of these indirect messages.

Although I knew that answers were 3,4, and 5 were more about attentive listening, I had to confess that 1 and 2 sound more like me. I’m far more likely to move quickly toward problem solving or advice, even though I’ve found that options 3, 4 and 5 are more likely to help my friend hear their inner thoughts. This kind of self-discovery may guide them toward steps that resonate with their values and needs.

Although I believe in what I just said, as I wrote the last couple of sentences it was very clear to me that I almost always have to force myself to move toward the listening stance. In fact, if I truly move into active listening, it’s almost always after I’ve done battle with a feeling of incompetence and a loud inner voice shouting advice to both me and my companion.

Making myself human size

On his podcast Being Human, author Steve Cuss describes the phenomenon of becoming “human size.” He contrasts this with the more insecure postures we often take of making ourselves “larger” or “smaller” than human. We may choose these more insecure postures out of fear or arrogance, but frequently it’s our own anxiety that leads us to set aside our best and truest self to meet perceived expectations or to seek safety. This struggle is among the greatest barriers to active listening.

Cuss describes a conversation where a friend shares two minutes about a concern and the speaker immediately provides 20 minutes of advice. As I reflected on his illustration, I put myself in the speaker’s place. If I were to act like this speaker (or rather when I have acted like this speaker) it’s not really that I think I need to share some kind of wisdom. The more likely scenario is that my desire to help is mingled with a greater attention to myself than to my friend. It’s my fear of incompetence or my oversized sense of responsibility for the situation that drives me in situations like this.

What Cuss calls human sized seems to me to be a blend of listening skills, curiosity and hospitality. When I manage to redirect attention away from myself and toward my friend, I have found that it allows a quiet contentment that expands in the paradox of silence. Moving slowly and offering my attention makes both myself and my friend human sized. Silence opens doors to clarifying questions. It lets go of manipulative inquiries that, even if they don’t contain the words “you should,” embed that message into what is spoken. But silence mutes the mouth and awakens the eyes, ears, lungs and hands to communicate in ways that words never can, through a gentle gaze, quiet breathing, a soft murmur and a light touch.

Two-way relief

This kind of human-size listening brings two-way relief for suffering. As I lean in and make a quiet hospitable space for my friend, I turn down the clamor and anxiety in my own mind.

I tried this at the coffee shop this morning. My friend and I were rushed for time and there was a lot to cover. Both of us had more to say, and we will need to plan more time soon. In some ways we barely touched the surface of the topics on our minds. But I left encouraged. Not just because my friend seemed more relaxed, but because I took the conversation at a slower pace. I didn’t rush to see how much we could talk about. I listened to hear the ways that the topics we did mention illustrated the larger story of our lives. I said less and celebrated more of what we share. It wasn’t just my friend that was more relaxed. I was too.

How can I find the connections I need? As I listen to my friends and colleagues, I’m beginning to delight in the quiet space between us. And this connected presence holds the promise of healing joy.

1. In Search of God’s Will: Discerning a Life of Faithfulness and Purpose. Trevor Hudson. Navpress, 2024, p. xviii.