Sounds Like –
Twenty years ago this week an F3 tornado tore through downtown Nashville, Tennessee (http://www.wkrn.com/news/f-3-tornado-hit-nashville-20-years-ago_20180416214213/1126239206) We weren’t living in Tennessee at that time but we happened to be in Nashville chaperoning hundreds of teenagers at an annual talent and skills competition on the campus of Trevecca Nazarene University. When the announcement came down that all were supposed to seek shelter several of us ran to the different ball fields, tennis courts and other places where events were being held. Making sure to get everyone we saw to safety without a lot of chit-chat was important, however, one young teenage girl stopped and with fear in her eyes and voice asked me if we were in the path of the tornado? Guiding her inside as I answered; “I don’t know.” “How will we know?” she inquired. Not being a meteorologist I repeated what I once had been told; “A tornado sounds like a train!” Unbeknownst to my inquisitor, there was a set of railroad tracks behind the campus of Trevecca. At the exact time, I told her a tornado sounded like a train a train going past the school sounded its horn. “I hear the tornado! I hear the tornado!” I peered into her fear brimmed eyes, smiled and said; “Sweetie, tornadoes may sound like trains but they don’t come equipped with horns.” I got her with the rest of the students in a basement, shut the door and stood outside watching, listening for the tornado and laughing, thankful that even in this storm of chaos a light of joy can shine through.
Not Open –
This morning, I put on a shirt I had never worn before. Buttoning up the front I then went to button the cuffs. The first one was no problem but the second one was hard to get the button through. After several attempts, I finally looked to see what the problem was and to my surprise, the hole for the button on the cuff was sewn shut. It had never been cut open so the button couldn’t go through it. I didn’t have time to look for scissors so I simply rolled up my sleeves.
Yesterday, in a “how to communicate” lecture, one of the men in our Incarcerated Father group raised his hand and was busting at the seams to say something. I looked at him, smiled and said; “Yes sir?” “You don’t know the women we hang around! These communication skills won’t work with them, they’re crazy!” he blurted out. The class laughed and most agreed. When they settled down we spent a few moments going through a few alternatives forms of communicating that might be better-suited for the men and women who make up their family and friends.
“However, in the end,’ I said, ‘sometimes you need to know when to walk away. If they aren’t receptive to your desire not to argue, fuss and fight, then ending the conversation before the mayhem begins is your best option.'”
Sometimes, the way through the drama, aggression, judgement isn’t open at this point and time. If you can’t get through it, it’s best to leave it be and try again another day.