Really Listening


I listen to the quiet between the words. In that interval between the sounds of us talking, the true, deep meaning is to be found, if only I am gentle with myself, and the speaker, moving into the space of the depth of true understanding.

If I listen to myself and to you, truly listen, then I will hear your true voice, and mine. I will hear the message that I need to listen, deeply, intentionally, and with love and understanding. In that lies my intention. I will connect with the heart of our true conversation.

Yes, the words have meaning, and stories are told from the words, and then some. More. I listen to the sentences, the rhythm of the speaker, inflections, the rising and falling of the cadence of the words. I am led gently down the path of the storyteller, and shown the meaning of the words.

What is really being told here, I wonder. There is more, there is always more. My task is that of the explorer, the miner digging for the gold in the midst of the rubble, the ordinary chit-chat that often passes for conversation. Herein lies something even greater. So, truly listen.

Go deeper, I am sensing. There is more to this than just what I am hearing, what is being said.

Underneath this, there is more. I can feel it deep within me.
There are many layers to this tale, and I listen harder, taking in the silence, strewn among the spoken words, wanting everything that is revealed. I am seeking the message of the silence, exploring its vocabulary, its nuances. What are you really saying here? And, what am I being called to really hear?

We feel the silence now; the spoken words uttered. There is tension, the tension of the anticipated, the expected, the comforting patter of more words, more sounds.

I am on edge; we both are. This space between these words is new, irritating, literally dis-quieting. I find myself yearning for a word, a phrase, to keep the banter going. Part of me is reticent, to not really listen. Do I prefer banality? Being on the surface, and not going deep. Can’t I stay here, gliding on the mere surface of our conversation? Then, I won’t have to ponder the silences, and hear in my heart the real meaning of what your heart is saying.

Now I hear your breath, and mine. There are other sounds, too. Clothes, papers rustling, air moving, the ordinary background noises of whatever kind of place we are in, the place of normal, everyday conversations, the detritus of our daily lives.

Yet, when I go deeper, beyond this ordinary sound clutter, my mind literally opens up, expands, so that I can take in all that you are expressing to me, the stuff beyond conversation, beyond the plain words of everyday conversation.

My senses broaden — feeling, seeing, hearing, touching, and yes, even smelling all that you are offering me, in this near vacuum of experience between us. Yet, it is rich and full, and not vacuous, a contradiction. Or is it? This is rich territory, and, so often, new to me.

If I would only truly sense what you are offering me, I would understand so much more. You have so much information, so many ideas to express to me, if only I would be open to you, truly open. If I do this right, my senses, my intuition, the entirety of my entire array of sensory neurons would be on fire, overloaded with all that you are telling me.

You share with me in so many ways, ways that we both would agree would be of such enormity that neither of us would be deemed to be competent to assess, even measure.

Henri Nouwen wrote: “Somewhere, we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening, speaking no longer heals; that without distance, closeness cannot cure.

He calls us to visit that “somewhere”, which is beyond our daily, mundane experience, and open ourselves as far as we believe we can go, into new territory of our existence, our humanity.

He calls us to embrace the silence, and truly listen, to stake out that space between us, and let us be able to reach out to each other within that emptiness, and finally grow.

Now, I can’t reach any further out and listen harder, for the harder I work at this, the more difficult it becomes. Another conundrum. But isn’t that life?

The more I try, the less I succeed. No, I need to be now, just be, in all my humanity. I must listen more gently, easier, more fully with all of my senses, with all of my feelings, on the edges of my soul, my very being. On the rim of my existence, I must stretch further, letting the experience become in and of itself, beyond mere thought.

In that, I will truly listen to what you are telling me, and I will, at last, hear you, in all of your wonderful mystery and beauty.
–Neal Lemery
11/11/15

Friendship


Friendship is a wonderful gift. Being present, listening, truly listening to another person, is part of that gift. I focus on my intention to suspend judgment, and just accept my friend for who they are, where they are at, and where they are headed.

“Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.” –Albert Camus.
I try to just be present with my friends. Show up, and connect. Nothing more is required of me, and I don’t ask anything more of my friends.

The rules of friendship aren’t complicated. Having a real friend is one of the simple joys of life, and I don’t take it for granted. We may not have each other for long, so every moment is precious, a treasure.

When I am with a friend, my task is to connect, to open my heart, hear what they are saying, and also speak my truth, and share what is troubling me. Oh, we talk about our joys, but we also talk about our sorrows. And, in the telling, we are able to see the beauty and wonder that life offers us, and celebrate our friendship and our lives.
–Neal Lemery, November 5, 2015

Neal Recently Featured on OPB’s Think Out Loud


http://www.amazon.com/Mentoring-Boys-Men-Climbing-Mountains/dp/1502514028

Neal Lemery and Carol Imani join Geoff Norcross of OPB’s Think Out Loud.

Often lost in the news stories of crimes and criminals are the stories of the families of the people who find themselves in the criminal justice system. On Oct 18, a group of Oregonians gathered at the First United Church to read their narratives about how they, as family members of people who are currently incarcerated, navigate the experience from the outside.

On Oct 15, Geoff Norcross of OPB’s Think Out Loud interviewed English teacher, Carol Imani, and me. The podcast is embedded below. More about the story can be found here.

Happy listening. Neal’s section begins at the 5:50 marker.

Speaking about Mentoring…


Tillamook Kiwanis Banquet Speech

Neal Lemery

September 30, 2015

Thank you. It is a pleasure to be with you on this special evening, as you honor your organization, and your service to our community. This is a sweet and special celebration of good works.

Kiwanians have always been known for your service and your dedication to improving the lives of others. You make a difference.

You bring about change, and you are people who change other people’s lives.

The famous anthropologist, Margaret Mead, said, “Never believe that a few caring people can’t change the world. For indeed, that’s all who ever have.”

I believe that each one of us is a powerful instrument of change. When I worked as a judge, I saw that people were hungry to change their lives, but many people simply didn’t know where to begin. Life was too overwhelming, and they had been told throughout their life that they were failures, and weren’t good enough to achieve success and realize their dreams.

And, most people don’t have anyone to believe in them, who believe that a person can take those few hesitant steps forward in the right direction, and start changing their life.

You and I don’t accept that model of how the world works. We believe in making a difference, and bringing about change, one person at a time.

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I’m a strong believer in teaching by example, and the power of mentoring.

Every one of us needs a strong person in our corner, someone who is our champion, our cheerleader — someone who believes in us, and where we are going.

When I was growing up, and, indeed, throughout my life, I had the benefit of strong, compassionate people — people who believed in me, and believed that I could achieve great things, and realize my dreams. My mentors weren’t Superman, and they didn’t have magical powers. But, they believed in me, and took the time to encourage me, to support me, and to give a nudge now and then, during the times when the going got tough, and the road ahead was rocky.

It is astonishing to me that there is such great power in a few kind words, and some time spent over a cup of coffee, offering the hand of friendship and a little push in the right direction.

I had the benefit of good parents, and growing up in times when there were strong families and vibrant, caring neighborhoods and communities. I grew up with a sense of optimism and hope, in a time when our nation’s leadership challenged us to travel to the Moon, and to “think not what our country can do for you, but what you can do for the country.”

Leaders challenged us to dream, and to declare war on poverty, racism, and ignorance.

Today, our country faces great challenges, and, once again, we are rising to the challenge of making a difference, and improving lives.

Our tasks are not easy.

I work with young men in prison who are fatherless. Most of my kids haven’t had a visit from family in over a year, and most of the time, its four or five years. In their world, anger and disappointment, and living without hope has been the norm.

The national statistics are shocking:

85% of youths in prison come from fatherless homes.

90% of homeless and runaway kids come from fatherless homes.

85% of the kids who have behavioral problems come from fatherless homes.

71% of high school dropouts come from fatherless homes.

And, 63% of kids committing suicide come from fatherless homes.

Not having a strong, healthy father figure in a young person’s life has a huge impact on their life. That’s not rocket science, by any means, but society in general doesn’t seem to get too worked up about that. But I know I can change those statistics.

I’m all about change. You’re all about change. How does each of us make that happen?

I believe it starts one person at a time. And, that means one cup of coffee at a time, one chat with a kid in your neighborhood, one handshake, a few kind words to someone who is struggling. Its taking on the work of a father or a mother with a kid who needs a healthy adult in their life, someone who takes an interest in them, someone who cares.

It truly takes a village to raise a child.

I go to prison every week, and visit some kids. I spend time in their garden, helping them with their plants, teaching them something they didn’t know about gardening. And, there are so many other lessons to learn there, not only for those young men, but for me.

I meet with young men one on one, too. I drink coffee and talk with some kids about their school work, and how they are changing their lives. I try to be a consistent, positive role model, someone who cares about their lives and where they are going.

I don’t do this work by showing up as Mr. Expert, or putting on the black robe of a judge and lecturing them about the law and responsibility. Instead, I show up as just me. I meet them on their own terms, and become their friend. I listen, I support them, I cheer them on. And, most importantly, I believe in them.

We are fortunate to have the Youth Authority in our community. It is a place of healing, and a place of great change. The teachers there set high standards, and, every week, I see young men getting their lives in order, and making the changes they need to make. It is a place of hope and a place of courage.

Most of the guys out there tell me that being in that prison is the best thing that’s ever happened to them. It’s a place where someone cares about them, and where they are safe, and can make the changes they need to make.

You do this work, too. You are out in the community, meeting kids and other folks on their own terms. You’re out there volunteering, doing service work. And, people see that. They see your example, and they know that you care. You are people of action, people who are changing the world, one person at a time.

You listen, you encourage, you help them light their candles, so that they can find their way in life. And, they find their way because they know you are there, that you care about them, and that you are willing to spend the time with them that they need.

You are the builders of this community and you are the builders of the men and women of the next generation. I commend you for that, and I congratulate you on doing the hardest job there is to do. You care about someone, and motivate them to feel that they are worthwhile human beings.

In that, you change the world.

Thank you for all that you do.

Growing Our Garden


 

 

On Fridays, I garden. I drive down the road to a community garden, ready for a morning of planting, weeding and, often, harvesting.

I join a group of young men, and we set to work. Together, we tackle our list of chores and get the jobs done. I work up a good sweat, my muscles get tired, and we add a few smudges of dirt to our faces. We laugh, sharing the simple joys of a day in the garden.

We take a break and look at what we’ve accomplished. Every week brings new projects, and fresh results.

We surround ourselves with all the elements of a healthy garden.   We make sure we use substantial and complex soil, rich fertilizer, fresh air, sunshine, water, and tender care. Each plant gets its own place in the garden, and is encouraged to flourish. If there is a need for water or fertilizer or a little pruning, we are quick to respond, doing our work in nurturing and care taking.

The plants look great, but we’ve really been growing healthy young men.

And these young men flourish. They get the attention and care they need. They find their place in our work, and are encouraged to send their roots down into the soil. They open themselves to the warmth and sunshine we all share. They are hungry for this work, and eagerly take on their roles in raising chickens, planting seeds, in the designing and building of raised beds, compost bins, and trellises. They learn to plan their projects, to plant and harvest. Over the fire, they cook a meal from the vegetables they have grown, tasting and savoring what their hands have grown in the dirt, nourishing themselves with what they have grown.

They become connected to the earth, and the food that they eat. The garden sunshine brightens their lives and feeds their souls. They build community in their work and by their conversations around the campfire.

For many of them, this is their first experience at growing things, and in being caretakers. They become gardeners, not just of their community garden, but of their own lives. In their work, they make the connection between this work and the work they are doing to rebuild their lives, growing into healthy young men.

We do this work behind a prison fence, yet there are freedoms here these young men have never had. They grow here, encouraged to find themselves, and to see themselves as more than men scarred by the traumas and poisons of troubled, directionless childhoods. This is a place of new beginnings, new opportunities. Old wounds are healed and they can move ahead, becoming healthy men.

I treasure the simple moments, the quiet, one-on-one time with a young man, as we plant a flower box, or weed the potatoes, slice some tomatoes, or pick and shell some beans. Just a couple of gardeners, but so much more goes on here, more than the eye can see.

Sometimes, we sit around the campfire, cooking some food, toasting a marshmallow or roasting a hot dog, or just reflecting on what we’ve done in the garden. Soon, stories are being told, experiences shared, observations made. Guys being their true selves, deepening their friendships, and talking about their growing strengths and talents. They are farmers talking about their crops, and how they are making some improvements, tending their crops, growing their lives.

I’m the old man in this crowd, the guy with the gray hair, who just shows up and offers a helping hand, maybe a word or two of advice. I like to be quiet, taking it all in, letting them take the lead in whatever we are working on, watching them ask their questions and talk out the solutions, finding answers.

They need to be in charge here, the gardeners of their own garden. Part of our harvest is growing strong leaders, people who can take charge of their own lives, and make their own way in life.

They come up to me, wanting me to notice their work. They ask me questions, seeking my advice, and not just about gardening.

They are hungry young men, hungry for attention, for someone to affirm them, and recognize them for the goodness they hold inside of themselves. I show up, say good morning, and ask them how they are doing. We work together, as farmers and as life long learners of how to live a good, productive life. The other adults at the garden do that too, and the young men respond with smiles, their eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

We take time to measure our harvest, counting and weighing our produce, admiring the beauty and abundance of what the boys have grown.

Yet, there is more to the harvest than all the tomatoes and corn, chicken eggs and dried herbs. I count the smiles and the looks of pride and confidence I see in their faces. These young men have grown this summer in so many ways than what we see in their vegetables and flowers.

Their strength and their resilience shine in their faces today, and their newfound abilities to grow their own lives is the real essence of the harvest of our garden.

 

 

–Neal Lemery 9/14/2015

Changing Times


 

Change is all around me. I look outside and there is more than a hint of Fall in the air. Leaves are changing color, my garden is in harvest mode, and the air is cool and damp.

After a summer of unusual warmth and dryness, we have had some rain, and plants are reviving, coming alive again.

I turn the calendar to a new month. Summer vacations are ending, and there is a flurry of activities. Classes, meetings, events are happening. Community life is coming alive again. There are things to do and opportunities to grow.

Driving by my neighborhood school, I see it coming alive after the summer break. The parking lot is crowded, and families are heading inside to an evening welcoming, celebrating the opening of school. Excited, nervous little kids break into an enthusiastic skip as they walk into the school, parents smiling with pride.

Their child is starting school, and opportunity awaits. Anything is possible. I see that in their faces, in how they walk, and hold their kids’ hands.

At the store, I navigate through the hordes of tourists and weekenders, and I run into old friends. We reconnect, realizing we haven’t seen each other all summer. We pause to catch up, and reconnect, reweaving the fabric of community. This weekend marks the end of the high season, the wave after wave of visitors who crowd our roads, and walk our beaches and trails. Soon, it will be quieter here, and we locals will breathe big sighs of relief, and reclaim our peaceful moments in the places we treasure.

They, too, are caught up in this sense of change and transformation. It is a new season, a new beginning.

Before yesterday’s rain, I planted a new crop of peas, beets, and radishes. My new lettuce rows are already up. I harvest more broccoli for our dinner, knowing that my work will bring on yet another feast in another month.

A friend is soon off to college, and we pause for coffee, and share his excitement for his new adventure. He’s ordered his textbooks, and is already packing for his move to a new city, and a new school. Excitement is in the air and in his eyes. His future is happening, and he’s ready to grow.

All this newness and excitement. I feel alive and invigorated. Anything is possible. Anything can happen. I am part of that, and I am all of that.

Change. It is in the air, and I am ready to take a deep breath, and move ahead.

 

Neal Lemery

9/7/15

 

Separation


 

Growing up, older, maybe wiser, they part ways with me. On their own, finding their path, going their own way, I see them fly.

Perhaps they stumble, perhaps they fall. Sometimes, I pick them up and hug them, offering words of encouragement, maybe direction. They wobble, then stand again on their own, and move forward, leaving me, once again behind them, watching them go.

They are on their own, even though I want to pick them up and save them from their scrapes and tumbles.

I am not their rescuer, though that is what I want to do. I am not their protector, though that is the job I willingly seek.

I am that old number on their phone, that place where there will be a cheerful voice, full of encouragement and support. I am the voice that will say “I believe in you” whenever they want to hear it.

Time moves on. They are no longer my babies. At least, that is what I say when I’m asked about them. Deep inside, they still are my kids, my little ones, needing me to hold their hands, and kiss their boo boos, and give them the love that they need. Yet, I must let them fly, go out into the world and be who they are becoming, and find their own wings.

I am, now, their believer.

First Smush


 

Smoke swirled
Flames hot across fresh wood
We sat, ash floating
Between us.

Marshmallow on a wooden stick,
Passed around, until we all had one,
Until all the sticks were over the coals
Except

His —- he whispering to me,
I don’t know how to do this—
No one else noticed, when I took two
Graham crackers, two squares of
Chocolate, and waited
Until our marshmallows caught fire, until
I helped him blow his out and heat blackened white

Again, until I asked him to slide white lava
On the chocolate, scooping it off the
Stick with the other cracker
Half, and asked him to smush it—-
Like this —- just
Smush it down.

Smush, he
Whispered to
Himself.

Now what? looking at me,
Lost still, around the circle, around his first
Fire, until I, nodding, smushed, then
Stuffed mine into my mouth.

Good? I asked, seeing his mouth
Full, he — finally nodding —
Smushed wonderment in his eyes, new melted
Goo
Dripping out of his sweet mouth.

—-Neal Lemery 7/11/2015

Thornbush or Juniper, Brier or Myrtle (Isaiah 55:13)


peggytl's avatarvignettesofmyheart

This is a sermon I preached today.  The text is based in Isaiah Chapter 55.  I know that many will not agree with what I say here.  This is where the Holy Spirit has led me over the past 45 years, by allowing me to see the pain that Christians and society have inflicted on people of color and my gay, lesbian, bi-sexual and transgender brothers and sisters, and by leading me to information that has informed my childhood homophobia and blessed me with many beautiful people in my life.  Having been silent for too long, I now offer my experience.

The past two weeks have been both wonderful and terrible. We have seen the power of love that has moved mountains in the lives of our gay and lesbian, bisexual and transgender brothers and sisters.

We have seen the power of hate that brought death to innocents,an occurrence that happens…

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