The best writers write about what they know, and the easiest way for me to blog daily is to recount my days. That’s what I do when I journal every morning, and it has worked well for many years. Lately, a pervasive theme has been ‘listening.’

At least three close friends of mine are struggling, the kind of struggling that makes one want to crawl into bed and hide underneath the sheets. One has escaped an emotionally abusive relationship and is trying to discover herself. Another is frustrated beyond measure with the judicial system and is in real fear of financial insecurity. Still another is dealing with the consequenc s of a DUI that might include the loss of custody of her two sons as well as the loss of the teaching position she’s had for 18 years, which impacts her health insurance and her retirement.

All heavy stuff. Absolutely none of which I’ve experienced. And yet they are pouring out their hearts to me. 

That is something that was almost hard to accept, since my initial inclination always is to help, or fix, or advise, or something. It’s hard, and it makes me feel really powerless. 

Just when I was starting to feeling down about it, it occured to me that I was starting to make it about ME, and how *I* didn’t know what to say to them about their situations. That was pretty selfish to make it about me, don’t you think?

But then a profound thought crossed my mind: all I had to do is listen. Nothing more was being asked of me. I began to relax. Actually, the feeling was quite liberating. 

I treasure the trust my friends have placed in me. They know that whatever they tell me goes no further. So I do what I can for my friends: I listen, and I pray for them. I know that that’s enough.