A Book Reminded Me

... listening well is no small thing

I’m reading a book by Leif Enger entitled Virgil Wander. He’s an excellent writer - of the Wendell Berry type. The sort you don’t read quickly because his words are never wasted. He writes no throw away sentences.

I am often reading when, mid-paragraph, I close the book for a few minutes. Often my eyes close as well. And I just sit. I just think about the words his characters are saying. I feel them. I just let them sit with me and near me for a few minutes. Words making me feel seen or known or understood. Words making a little something crack open inside - a little understanding or empathy, giving language to my feelings.

At one point in the novel, Virgil, the protagonist, is on the phone speaking with a friend.

I laughed. The day had not shattered records for gladness. Yet a small thing had gone right for Nadine - she bent a glass tube, and it pleased her. I’d lived years without a woman to tell me small things. Her work went well and she wanted to say so, and I was the man who was listening. That fact swung open and light came in.

There’s something so beautiful right there. A little truth.

Aren’t the small things actually such a barometer? So important?

Well, the telling of the small things, I think I mean.

Of course we’ll share the big things with people. They’ll be obvious anyway. New jobs. A move. College acceptance. Promotions. Even haircuts and vacation plans. We’ll talk about those.

But who are we telling the small stuff to? The debate over whether to purchase the mounted can opener or stick with the handheld one? The way you felt when you saw your fourth grade teacher at the grocery store and she remembered your name?

I remember my mom listening to me talk through the process of room rearrangements. I remember her having thoughts about which wall was better suited for the bureau and which for the China hutch.

I remember nights lying in bed as a married person and sorting through the day together - sharing jokes told by children and talking through weekend plans and whether we could pull off growing a garden in raised beds or not.

And so when I read those lines in the novel, something I had forgotten was remembered. The grief of a loss was renewed. The reminder of how lovely and comfortable it is to discuss small things with someone you love and who loves you. Someone who thinks the small things you discuss have merit and worth. Listening to small things is a treasured form of endearment.

I am reminded of what a gentle sign of true affection listening is.