Last night in youth group at our large parent church, I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Maybe you’re an extrovert and large groups of people aren’t as terrifying or awkward. But I’m painfully aware I’m an outsider and even though I got a lanyard with my name on it, I’m not from around here. I don’t quite know how it goes. I’m the new kid, but the strands gray of hair in my braid also makes it undeniable I’m the adult here. So, my nervous hands jam in my pockets during worship and I try not to look around too much. Just read the lyrics on the screen. Sing the song, but not too loud. Be invisible, even though it’s very obvious I’m not.
In the car today, replaying the night, I suddenly realized those were calming signals. Fidgeting, focusing on things other than people, avoiding eye contact, they’re all the human version of calming signals.
A Norwegian dog trainer named Turid Rugaas studied the behavior of dogs, and noticed them doing something she termed “calming signals”. These are behaviors dogs display when they want to calm down or diffuse a situation. It can be as subtle as licking their lips or turning away, or as obvious as a playful bow. The term for calming signals is also being used in the horse world, where I’ve had the most exposure to it. The identification of the behaviors makes a world of difference for natural horsemanship trainers, and those using horses for assistance in emotional therapy.
Horses use their calming signals in similar ways as dogs. As prey animals that live in herds, they can use calming signals to each other, to help each other settle down and not attract attention to themselves. They can also use them in tense situations with each other. Some of their calming signals are looking away, sniffing the ground, or rubbing their foreleg. They’re saying, “I’m not a threat.” I’ve enjoyed watching the foals at the ranch, who clack their lips together loudly at other horses if they feel threatened. “I’m just a baby!” they’re saying. “Don’t hurt me!” And horses use calming signals on us.
Horses have heightened senses in every area. Smell, sight, hearing… and emotional awareness. Any tension in us causes them concern. Our uncertainty, inconsistency, frustration, anxiety, even distraction can be alarming to them. They will use calming signals to calm themselves down, and to attempt to help us calm down.
Calming signals help diffuse situations. Bring it down a notch. Eliminate or subdue conflict. For horses, dogs, and other animals it’s a matter of survival. They need to be able to settle down, not attract undue attention, or tone down a confrontation to avoid physical interaction that could end in life-threatening injuries.
And don’t we all want to avoid conflict?
Of course, we all know some who thrive on conflict. Drama. But do you find yourself using some calming signals on them? Like a horse who rubs his foreleg, do you nod and smile? Avoid eye contact? A horse nervously snatching grass is like a person twirling their hair, biting their nails or find something fascinating to read on a billboard as the conversation gets more intense. We try – nearly unconsciously sometimes – to soothe the other person. Pull back the intensity. Calm both of us down.
Calming signals are necessary for survival. Learning to read them in your horse deepens his trust in you, and hightenes all of your communication. Like anything defensive, we need it. But it can get in the way of meaningful and healthy relationships.
You can’t always retreat. Safety is sometimes an illusion.
To make us safe, in times when calming signals aren’t enough, we build walls. Walls keep us safe. They keep out the bad guys, the arrows, the storms. But they keep out the good guys, too. The sun, warm on my face. The ability to stand my ground and launch my own arrows at the enemy. “Calming signals” for me mean making everyone around me okay. Pleasing them, helping them, attempting to fix them. The world is dark and scary and broken and if I can toss some candles over my walls, maybe I can sleep better at night. Maybe I’ve done a good thing.
But it’s not a good thing.
And this isn’t my only motivation. I truly want to love deeply, bring the light of God to all I meet, help build his kingdom here. But I lose it sometimes. When fear gets me, when I smell rejection on the wind, when I am not up to my own impossible standards, when I am exhausted and empty and wounded, I get in behind the walls. I reinforce them. Make them taller. Bite my lip and avoid people and let the fear catch in my throat and my breath come shallow and isolate.
God said to me, as I sat praying during youth group, You can’t love them like I do from behind those walls.
And I know I can’t. I can’t throw prayer over them. I can’t hold hands through a tiny window in them. I can’t serve enough, calm enough, fix enough, love enough so that I feel better.
The other day, with some desperation in my heart and weariness all through my body, I took a few minutes to walk one of the mares and her foals out into the big pasture. They found a patch of grass, and I lay down on a soft hummock in the field that hadn’t been grazed short. The mare’s gentle breath and rhythmic clipping of the grass was soothing. Calming signals. My own breath slowed and got deeper. The tension that was gripping my shoulders, neck and back released.
We still need calming signals while we live on this earth. But our hearts can retreat to a place that doesn’t ever need them. That is truely, Truely safe.
This I declare about the Lord:
He alone is my refuge, my place of safety…
He will cover you with his feathers.
He will shelter you with his wings.
His faithful promises are your armor and protection.
Psalm 91:2, 4
Any time we build our own walls, we are dependant on ourselves. We don’t need God, we don’t need faith. We keep out chances for wounds, but we also keep out healing. We keep bleeding where no one can see. We keep out rejection, but we lose chances for acceptance. We keep out both enemies and friends alike. We are hidden from the world, but exposed to ourself. We close the heavy door on forgiveness, reconciliation, adventure, new life and growth.
Next time at youth group, next time I feel the need to run, I will take my hands out of my pockets. Open them up. Remember to breathe.
I won’t use calming signals on God.
I won’t talk to him from behind the walls.
I’ll take the step from behind them, and find myself in that green pasture. Wind on my face, out in the wide open, exposed.
But safe, in Him.
Threads of a Remnant 