Warm Curiosity

Story by M, photography by Kym van der Plas

Whilst I made mud pies in the back yard and picked the petals off our flowers to fragrance my creations, I don’t recall being particularly curious as a child.  Of course, curiosity comes in different forms and can be nurtured in different ways. There is the type that fills a home with board games, puzzles and books. Or the kind that leads to sunburnt hours peering into rockpools. Even that which keeps friends connecting and forging new memories that layer over time. In my adult years, the form of curiosity that I have leaned towards the most, is the kind that storyboards people and seeks to understand where they come from and what has shaped them. This warm curiosity values people by seeing the affection of God in the details of their life.

Lately, I have been reflecting more on curiosity. As you would expect, thinking about what it means to be curious has made me notice it more in others too. A dear friend has created a home filled with discovery and creativity.  Recently when I popped in, her eldest was making a wooden tortilla press whilst the youngest regaled me with stories about their back yard quails.  The whole family has turned their curiosity into creative projects that they each chip away at through the week. Whilst she was preparing a cup of tea for me, she remarked that she wanted her children to find life interesting. Clearly, they do. This kind of creative curiosity can lead a person to wonder and delight. Like a parent who gently lifts the face of their child to meet their gaze, developing an awe in ‘his handiwork’ (Psalm 19:1) brings honour and praise to God and directs glory back to his power and might.

I am learning that friendship needs a sustained curiosity to last the distance.  Last week I sat by a pool with a couple of good friends. We sat in the shade, ate snacks and swapped book recommendations between dips into the glistening water.  It has been over fifteen years since we forged our friendship. One of us has an appetite for bike riding, another loves attending live country music and the third enjoys ocean swimming. Perhaps these interests have not changed much over the years, but we have. We attend different kinds of churches, have different strengths and have not followed the life paths that we expected for ourselves when we were in our twenties.  Nonetheless, we enjoy a warm curiosity towards one another that has sustained and deepened our friendship. If we had assumed on being the same people that we were when we met, our friendships may not have continued. 

Recently I sat opposite a clinician whom I respect a great deal.  In my mind, he was the definition of Dr House; the television doctor who could always figure it out.  On entering his room, I looked around and took in the art on his walls and the old-fashioned examining table in the corner. As the conversation meandered, he remarked that a good doctor needed to possess two things. They needed to like people and they needed to be curious.  There it was again. The art and skill of being curious.  Being curious meant that you listened for longer, asked more questions, considered before you assumed (and like this doctor) - you were more likely to arrive at a helpful diagnosis than had you curtailed the consultation ten minutes earlier.  I was in good hands. 

However, it is not just in the doctor’s room that I appreciate good questions. I notice when others ask me an astute question and likewise, I try to be thoughtful in my own question asking. Perhaps unwittingly, I held this skill on par with being a good listener and “noticer-of-people.” Whilst it can be, I am learning that asking questions is not the same as being warmly curious.  When I was living in the Middle East, people had a couple of standard questions wherever I went. “Are you married?” (this then evolved into the part b question, “Why not?”) and “Do you have children?”  Locals were curious and I was a curiosity. As an outsider in a generally homogenous culture, it made sense that they wanted to place me somehow; I was the anomaly and my hosts wanted to assign me a box to accommodate me in their culture. Sometimes this curiosity formed the basis of an ongoing relationship – but at other times it was a stranger who asked and mused over my responses before wandering away.  Curiosity can deepen relationships but not necessarily. Without warmth and interest or a mutual sharing of selves, it can feel cold and more like an interrogation. A cold curiosity if you will. 

Here is my confession and what has led to these stirrings on curiosity.  Usually, I want to build a connection, and I am genuinely interested in the stranger or potential friend in front of me.  Hearing a story from another person is like building a bridge between us that as each component is added, eventually forms a structure that we can walk across, back and forth. However, it has been disconcerting to discover that I do not always have a warm curiosity.  It might be a passing comment, an opinion that ruffles my feathers or an attitude that irritates me. Before I know it, my body bristles and I pull back. The shutters have come down, and I have moved into amber alert. Who this person is, what they enjoy and the experiences that have shaped them – to my shame, I am no longer listening. My defenses are up and I am ready to moralise as I inwardly interpret what they have shared. With a twist of irony, when I need to exercise warm curiosity the most, I am inwardly packing up, snapping shut my suitcase and walking out the door.  The problem is that the conclusion I have arrived at, may have completely missed the mark. Later when I recall my response, I cannot trust that my judgement of the situation was thoughtful or compassionate.

Perhaps curiosity has been like a dimmer switch inside of me. Sometimes warming the room brightly and at other times, creating cold shadows where it has been lacking.  I am not alone in this.  I think we all have roadblocks to this kind of warm curiosity. But I think it is important that we do not confine curiosity to a childhood phase but seek to keep growing it through our lives.  Reflecting further, I wonder if it is not more closely aligned with developing a delight in knowing God than we realise. 

Remember when you had to line up at school in order of age or height? There were always a few surprises. The youngest in the class was not necessarily the shortest. The work of curiosity rightly aligns us to our proper place. God has made us to be creatures that cannot fathom our existence unless his knowledge is given to us. So, as an act of humility in seeing our place in the world, we need to be curious. 

This morning, for the first time in my life, I joined a group of birdwatchers on their morning stroll through the bush. I was promptly offered a spare pair of binoculars as we set off but, despite my attempt to listen out for birdsong, all I could hear was the rustling leaves from the wind. Friarbird, house sparrow, black cockatoo; birding is one type of creative curiosity that I would not mind cultivating.  Yet what about the warm curiosity that grows community and enjoys seeing the work of God in someone’s life?  I am praying for a slower and kinder response to others that is not easily rattled. I want to grow the kind of curiosity that can listen for longer and look for the ways to discover who a person is – instead of passing quick judgment. Let warm curiosity become a hallmark of our daily noticings, and let it surprise us with a greater awe in how God is at work in his world.

M—Regular Contributor

Until recently, M was an overseas cross-cultural worker, so she is now processing all the transitions whilst still in transition herself. She is grateful for her Latino husband, acts of kindness and grace and friends who have prayed for her in seasons of loss. She enjoys taking photos of beautiful doors and is dipping her toe into the world of birding. You can find more on Instagram @booksonfridays