“Let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak…”
— counsel that slows me more than I expect.
I speak quickly, even inwardly. Words rise before I know what I’m responding to. Prayer becomes explanation. Faith turns verbose. I am often already answering—life, God, myself—before I have fully heard what is being asked.
Today I noticed the hurry beneath my devotion. The need to say something meaningful, to arrive somewhere conclusive. Listening, I’m learning, takes longer. It asks for restraint where I’m used to fluency.
I practiced not finishing the sentence. Not rushing to resolve the thought or complete the prayer. I let it trail off, unfinished and slightly awkward.
The silence that followed felt wide. Not empty—open. For a moment, there was nothing to manage, nothing to clarify. Just space.
I don’t know yet how to listen well. But today, stopping halfway felt like a beginning.
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