I get this a lot.
Often when I’m in a store with Cassidy, someone will notice us signing and say, “I wish I knew sign language!” Or they’ll get excited because they’ve been teaching their baby a few signs.
Can I be honest with you?
Sometimes, when these conversations start, I go a little numb inside.
Not because there’s anything wrong with someone being excited about our sign language. In fact, I think it’s wonderful. I love that watching Cassidy and I communicate can open the door to a conversation.
But for us, sign language was never something cute we decided to do or something fun we thought we’d try.
We learned because we needed to communicate with our daughter.
There is a whole story behind our signs.
And sometimes, after you’ve lived a story long enough, you forget that the person standing in front of you doesn’t know all that your hands have carried.
I was walking around Target with Cassidy when a mom carrying a baby passed us. She stopped and carefully asked if she could ask me a question.
“Where did you learn ASL?”
And immediately, because this conversation is so familiar, I thought, Here we go.
She’s going to tell me how cool it is that we sign because she’s doing baby sign with her baby.
But this time I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Her baby had hearing loss.
And along with his hearing loss, he had other complexities as well.
Sweet baby boy.
And sweet mama.
Instantly, my heart softened with so much compassion for her. I wanted to hug her.
This was a mom looking for common ground with another mom who would understand.
I wasn't just standing in Target talking about sign language.
I was standing across from another mama whose life had taken an unexpected turn.
A mom who might still be trying to understand what motherhood was going to look like now that it wasn't going to look the way she expected.
A mom who may have needed someone to look her in the eyes and, without saying a word, help her feel seen and understood.
Thankfully, my outward response to her had been warm from the beginning.
But inside?
God gave me a gut check.
Before she had even finished her question, I had already decided what she was going to say. I had filled in the rest.
I've heard this before. I know what she's going to say.
But clearly, I didn't.
So I asked myself this question:
How many people do I miss because I assume I have already heard their story?
I don't know, maybe that's just me. But can you relate to that question at all?
A friend who calls at an inconvenient time.
The stranger who starts a conversation when we're tired, distracted, or “just not feeling it.”
Possibly a woman at church who lingers after everyone else leaves.
Or maybe one of your kids seems to be stalling at bedtime, but we feel too tired to talk.
This short interaction led me to evaluate myself.
I don't want my weariness to cause me to be unavailable to the person God has placed directly in front of me.
That mom in Target reminded me that the question I've heard a thousand times may be the first time someone has been brave enough to ask it.
So maybe I can pause before I make an assumption and listen before I decide I know.
Because behind a question I've heard a hundred times might be the one person who needs me to listen. And I don't want to miss her.”
