practice
practice
I spent the evening
singing harmony
with a pick-up gospel choir—
songs I didn’t know
parts I didn’t know
offering me the
gentle reminder
that listening comes first,
then you sing.
Peace,
Milton
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specifically, the time . . . you left a note you drove me home you called to check on me you paid my bill you dropped by to say hi you answered the phone and listened you called me out you came to Dad’s funeral you laughed at my jokes you said you loved me…
That’s got to be the first commandment in preaching: listening comes first.
It certainly has a nice ring to it! [reminds me of a poem I wrote once — one of the 5 or 6 that *I* remember as being quite good, even to my over-analytical extra-critical self-deprecating Self — that started out with “if feelings were first/ then who [& how?] did the naming come about?/ & who/ was there/ to listen to/ the names?”
You’ve been on my mind quite a bit lately, Milton. I surely miss the times we found to hang out, and I would rejoice to spend some time with you, as our time together always felt to me like BOTH of us walked away with our spirits lifted, or (at the least) we parted ways a little lighter confident that our friendship blossomed in the knowledge that we tried to take some of each other’s burden. I sense that you would welcome any “burden carrying” that your friends could arrange — wish I could be there for you, ol’ buddy.
Just know that there’s at least one Atlanta-based “best read line cook I know” who is periodically praying for you, always with a smile on my face.
Much love,
Mitch
Best description of discernment…ever. May I use it with attribution?
Of course.