Long ago I discerned that the language in which I felt most loved was to be heard. The realization of my love language came after an extended history without success in this area.
How often had I felt unheard in a group casually conversing? I’d wait anxiously to find a space within the dialogue to pop in my sound bite only to be talked over by a louder member. I even experienced the frustration of having a nearby person picking up my comment and offering it as their own!
The height of irony came back when I recognized I had married a man who could not listen to me in the way I needed to be heard. By that I mean he couldn’t sit in rapt attention to what I considered each jewel of a remark that trickled from my tongue. His need for movement made it necessary for him to focus on something totally other than me while I was speaking. He had to jiggle his leg wildly at the very least, with his eyes darting around the room. I learned eventually that his full involvement in my shared thoughts was indicated by his interruptions. He was either questioning what I had said or trying to solve a problem I had brought up. I just wanted to be heard and understood! It was like we spoke two different languages.
It made for some disappointing conversations, prior to my discovery of our different communication styles. Once I changed my standards for what defined paying attention for him, our conversations improved. If he acted like he wasn’t listening, he was.
My issue of short-term memory loss further complicated our talks. If too many interruptions occurred before my story was completed, I often forgot my main point. It was like forgetting the punchline to a joke–very frustrating, for both of us.
Our 47 years of marriage involved many such challenges, which God, in His mercy, helped us to overcome. In fact, God became the most excellent resolution to my communication problems. I found in my Lord the perfect ear to listen to me day or night for as long as desired without a single interruption. I am, finally, being heard and feeling loved in my love language.
Dianna
Sharing the Fruit of Maturity
