Legacy of Listening

“As I’ve been reading your news, I’ve been wondering…” “I just have to ask you….” “Tell me more about…” 

These were the questions that marked 4-hour dinner conversations. I wasn’t the one who asked – I was the one who answered. I talked, he listened. He asked more questions. I asked questions, too – and gained valuable insight from 85 years of well-lived life. But his legacy? It lies in his listening.

I first met Bob in 2009. I worked every weekend at a local coffee shop, and on Saturdays, I knew to brew Highlander Grogg as the flavor, because like clockwork, at 9:40 am a tall and slender white-haired man with a kind countenance would come in for his white chocolate raspberry scone and 16-ounce coffee to go. “Can I ask your name?” I boldly extended myself one morning when he was the only customer. We exchanged names and chatted at the cash register.

Week after week, I always looked forward to Bob coming in. I shared my dreams about Colombia and how I was getting ready to visit. “Can I give you this?” He asked, pulling $60 out of his wallet and putting it on the counter. From then on, he never hesitated to pay for his $4.26 coffee and scone with a $20, and tell me, “The rest is for you.” His generosity was constant for years to come.

Our discussions in those days revolved mostly around what I was studying in school, what I was writing on my blog, and what was going on in the community. When I was done working at the coffee shop, we made a point of staying in touch through email and the occasional coffee shop conversation. But, strangely enough, it was when I went overseas long-term that our relationship grew closer.

Bob stayed in correspondence with me while I was in Colombia. When I was coming back for a summer, he invited me to have dinner, and we arranged to meet at Applebee’s at 5 pm. “Oh, is this your granddaughter?” The trying-to-be-friendly-but-seeming-nosy hostess asked Bob. “Yes, something like that,” Bob replied coyly, looking at me and smiling. We decided that “adopted granddaughter” was a good arrangement.

Our Applebee’s conversations were never less than three hours long. At first, they were a bit more formal and serious – discussions about my work, about the young people he was investing in (though he never phrased it that way), and about our mutual faith. He always encouraged me to keep learning, and to continue my education. He always challenged me to write a book. And he always proposed that I develop my gift of teaching and use it frequently. 

Bob’s legacy is one of listening. This past summer, the range of his questions was wider – he would listen to me talk about my passion for the unreached…then lighten things up by asking me about the young men in my life. 🙂 He would make references to blog posts I’d written, and share about what he had been learning in his video courses.

I didn’t know Bob before his years of retirement. I’m sure that he had a grand influence on people throughout his life. I can testify that in his later years, he intentionally engaged in conversations with young people as he rubbed shoulders with them – at coffee shops, at the Food Shelf where he volunteered, and in other key places in the community. He influenced by his simple willingness to listen for ten minutes and speak for one. 

As a friend once told me when I was leaving for Colombia, “I can’t say ‘I will miss you’ – because I haven’t ‘missed’ you. I’ve gotten to know you.” I feel in my heart that I will miss Bob… But I can’t imagine how different my life would be had I missed the opportunity to have this precious man in my life. His listening legacy is an inspiration to me.