Years ago, I taught English and music to children in Ajloun, Jordan. This was one of the richest experiences of my life, but there were significant challenges too.
I had always been a word person. From an early age, I wrote stories and poetry. During college I wrote and performed songs. I was known for my ability with words. I was known to be articulate and gifted.
But the children I taught in Ajloun did not speak English. Many of their parents had limited English. Even the other teachers at the school operated, for the most part, in Arabic, although they could use English as a second language.
Suddenly, my words were gone. How could I express myself? How could I prove my worth in the world? How would anyone know that I was smart, or spiritual, or articulate? What would I do during this two-year assignment if I had no words?
Over those two years, I discovered the gift of presence. I didn’t need words nearly as much as I’d thought. My presence in the room with people was what they valued most. My smile, my warmth, my kindness—these gifts spoke very loudly without my ability to use words.
After so many years of perceiving that my only value lay in my intelligence and my abilities with words, it was a great relief to understand that it was enough just to be me. I was the gift.
When we understand the power of our presence, we can begin to express the gift that matters most. We can be more aware of our facial expression, tone of voice, posture, and mood—and how all of those things affect other people in the room. When someone needs us, we can relax and simply be there without feeling so much pressure to do something or say something. The time will come when we need to speak or take action, but sometimes we rush to the speaking and acting without realizing that the greater gift is to be there and to be truly present to the person who needs us.
This week, practice awareness of your presence.
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I taught religion to sixth, seventh and eighth grade students in a Catholic school and had a good relationship with my students. One day my principal told the teachers that we were accepting a Korean boy into our school. Wasn’t I shocked to find out that I would not only have this young man in religion class,but I was to be his homeroom teacher as well. I actually objected because I did not think I could “mentor” a non-English speaking student. What would I do to make him feel welcome and direct him as well? As you said, Vinita, the gift of being there and being present to the person who needs us is all that we truly need. Somehow, we had a good experience together without having to use many words. Yes, it is good to find out that the gift of oneself has more value than words.
Thank you Venita, for this thought-provoking post. I am in a situation now w/ my faith community in my Jesuit parish. One of the women in our group has cerebral palsy and most of us cannot understand her speech. But we have made her feel welcome, encourage her to facilitate (she types the questions and someone else reads them) and I just try to make eye contact and nod occasionally, because any verbal response would most likely be off target. A valuable lesson for all of us to learn. ann
This is comforting and eye-opening at the same time. My daughter teaches in Japan. I think she will enjoy reading your thoughts on giving one’s self.
I have always been a word person too, who, by the way, has been grateful to be acquainted with some of your (written) words, Vinita. Your post made me think about what kind of love, kindness, gentleness I’m conveying with only my presence, and it didn’t take long for me to realize I’m not doing well in this area. I have a lot on my plate (caring for a husband with Parkinson’s and two adult Foster care residents) and I think I can seem abrupt and efficient and business-like. Not a blessing. I pray today will be different, with God’s help. God bless your weekend, Vinita….
God bless your openness to see your life truthfully and allow God’s transforming work. Thanks for posting–Vinita
Last year while my daughter’s kids were staying because of the Japaese earthquake, her youngest, a boy Nicholas, and I sat on the kitchen counter observing all the other relatives who had gathered at our house. We didn’t say much, I would ask his opinion of what someone had just said, and he would simply shrug his shoulders. After a bit of non-talking together, he said, “Gramma, you know who has a scary voice?” Allowing as how I didn’t, he answered, “You.” “Really?” I asked. “Yep,” he said. “Well, thank you for telling me this. It is something I didn’t know about myself.” As we continued to sit there, he opened up about some other observations he has made about the family, and I was quite amused at his ability to nail it in one, as they say. This incident taught me that just being there is sometimes enough, but more importantly, my voice is too strident with kids. So I try not to say much loudly. I try to respond with something I have heard in their voices. I am more aware of my presence. I’m still working on this gift, and trying to be the quiet one, not non-vocal, but softer. It helps me hear them better.
Thanks for this reflection. It has brought back a nice memory, and will be of help furthering my gift of presence. Maybe kids don’t talk to adults because their voices aren’t loud enough, but when they do talk, the really have something worth saying. What a lesson for me!
And what a great story to share with us! Bless you for listening to that little guy and making changes in the way you talked with kids. Many of us would whine, “Well, that’s just the way my voice is!”
Peace–Vinita