Tire shop Wi-Fi allows clients to cocoon. Unplugged people are few and far between.
Me: Where's your phone?
Neighbor: I'm not very tech savvy.
Me: Who helps you [with tech]?
Neighbor: My spouse died and my kids are unreliable.
Soul talk is a big deal.
Burned away, by a neighbor's intensity, was small talk's vapor.
Me: That's terrible.
Neighbor: I manage. What do you do?
The question felt like an effort to balance the exchange. Letting me so deeply into the story was risky. An invitation to autobiographize translated as, 'pick your path: nosiness or goodness.'
A brief explanation of the chaplaincy placed us in a cocoon of confessional trustworthiness: I showed you mine because you showed me yours.
Neighbor: What happens if I die at home, alone?
Me: If you die alone, it may go like this.
My neighbor listened while I listened to the Holy Spirit.
Praying, and talking at the same time, is possible. Try to remember that your brain works faster than your mouth and your spirit works faster than your brain. Slow your cadence and find appropriate pauses. Licking your lips gives the Lord's words for the listener a chance to bubble up. If you have anything to drink, stop and take a sip before continuing. A silent breath prayer when you pause, such as "Speak Holy Spirit," is handy.
Prayer is a big deal.
When listening to someone who's dying to be heard, please pray. Sometimes, the only time we have to pray is found in the space between small talk to soul talk.
In small places, like our hearts, the Holy Spirit speaks.
A cocoon is a small place.
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