on accompaniment, attentiveness, and contribution
My wife used to babysit for a child who would do the following.
When he pooped in his diaper and she approached to change it, he would squat down and tighten himself into a little ball and shout, “NO!”
As you can imagine, this reaction complicated the situation and made an unnecessary mess.
A problem denied is a problem made unnecessarily complex.
I heard of a father who does the following with his young son.
When the weather is nice, they go outside to enjoy the beauty of the day.
When it is raining, they go outside and feel the rain on their faces.
On every outing, they make the same observation. “This, too, is good.”
When I was learning to program, the first thing the instructors taught us was a framework for effective feedback. The feedback we offered to our partners was to be actionable, specific, and kind.
And “kind” was not “nice.” We were not to be vague and falsely flowery. Instead, we were to courageously offer a partner the gift of constructive feedback, a gift of growth.
Knowing how to give feedback, we were now on the hook to actually offer it when the time came, to take the risk that the exercise implied.
How often do we, when we see a situation in need of insight and compassion, neglect to even engage the dynamic? It is far easier to complain about the person concerned or fold our observation into the other noise in our head.
Though it is not easy, the risk of actionable, specific, and kind feedback is a risk worth taking.
I’ve been reading a remarkable book about how to listen and speak to young people. One suggestion, from a chapter on interacting with children with sensory sensitivity, is to “join the child in their world.”
This strikes me as an exercise that is universally productive for our relationships. Each of us has an inner world, rich and conflicted, formed by the narratives we rehearse. Failing to attend to this “world” of another, our communication can fall flat. Ships pass in the night.
The choice to join a neighbor in their inner world is always available to us. When we opt for this generous way, the other feels affirmed and known. Our insight of how to encounter them is refined. The relationship is strengthened. We are able to love more skillfully.
How is that moral high ground you’ve claimed?
Feels amazing, doesn’t it? The high of claiming the moral high ground is intoxicating.
The thing is, though, that this high keeps us from actually creating the relationships that would enable generous principles to enter the world. If stuck on the high ground, we spend time protecting and purifying our position (that is, polishing our idols) which further limits what we are able to see and do.
Often, those who lead the most compelling lives don’t pay all that much attention to the moral high ground. Certainly, they are principled, but they focus their energy instead on encountering people as they are and inviting them along to build a world in which it is easier to be good.
Diastole is the moment in the heartbeat when the muscles relax and allow the chambers to fill with blood.
This moment of rest is built into our biology.
How often do we allow for a true diastolic period in our inner lives? In our most cherished relationships?
I taught for a number of years in a remarkable middle school where student trust and cooperation were earned. Put another way, classroom management was a constant challenge.
One of the most effective classroom management techniques is to “narrate the positive”. That is, to verbally recognize the excellence and effort that you see. Even if it is only one or two students, calling out these positive exemplars can transform a classroom.
I see Mr. Smith has closed his Chromebook and is thoughtfully annotating the text.
I see Mr. Johnson is carefully editing his partner’s story according to the rubric. Outstanding.
Soon, the whole class is caught in the virtuous cycle.
What if we chose to do this more in public life?
I appreciate your generous risk-taking when you…
And what if we did this in the church?
I appreciate how you vulnerably live your vocation because…
Let’s commit to imaginatively narrate the positive more often.
When Leonardo da Vinci was fourteen, he began working in the workshop of Andrea del Verrocchio, a superlative Florentine artist. (Verrochio’s teacher was Donatello. These people were good.)
As art historians studied the paintings that came out of Verrochio’s workshop, they saw that many artists contributed to the same canvas. That is, Leonardo, Verrochio, and associates painted on the same canvas in order to create the same Renaissance masterpiece.
Can you imagine? Consider the patience, empathy, and communication needed to paint a consistent, astounding whole.
We need these same skills as we build our communities, large and small.
Think of three people who you love and respect, but who value different things than you.
Maybe they do not vote like you. Maybe they don’t believe what you believe. But you still love, respect, and communicate well with them.
How did you come to love them? Where did this relationship grow?
As we consider how to strengthen our communities, a good place to start is get curious about the gardens where these relationships grow.
Too often, strain arouses our indignation and causes us to retreat into old, stunting narratives. Narratives that allow us to claim the moral high ground but don’t lead anywhere productive.
So, instead, ask and answer: Rather than this confounding situation, what specifically do you desire?
Articulating a positive and achievable future is freeing, but it also puts us on the hook. We suddenly see the next steps of hard, generous work toward building a world in which it is easier to be good. Seeing these steps, we can then become responsible for them and act on them.
What confounding situation is waiting for your articulation of a positive and achievable future?
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