Unity Begins with Listening

Unity can be hard to find. In politics. In religion. In families. Sometimes even with the person we married.

For the final mandala in my book, Mandalas of Many Voices, I chose the theme of Unity, accompanied by a quote from an unknown author:

“The beauty of the world lies in the diversity of its people, and the strength of the world lies in their unity.” —Author Unknown

I wanted to leave readers with that thought. But the more I reflect on it, the more I realize that unity asks something of us. It asks us to look beyond what we have always believed and become curious about someone else’s life.

When I was a little girl, I thought about how fortunate—even favored—I must have been to be born into what I was taught was “the only true religion on the face of the earth.”

I was also white, growing up in a place where I rarely saw Black people. My father and grandfather used the N-word, and their language taught me, before I could understand what I was learning, that Black people were somehow less than we were.

I remember being in Grand Central, the Walmart of its day, and seeing an older Black man. I was frightened of him simply because his skin was different from mine.

That memory is painful now. He had done nothing to frighten me. My fear came from what I had absorbed.

At the time, Black men could not hold the priesthood in the church my family belonged to. I didn’t yet understand the history of slavery or racism. In my childhood understanding, I connected Black skin with a curse from God and the story of Cain killing Abel. It was a harmful belief, and I was too young to recognize it as one.

Yet somewhere inside, it didn’t sit right.

Why would God favor me over an innocent little boy simply because we were born with different skin colors?

There was one Black student in my high school, and I adored him. Everybody seemed to. He had a big, warm personality that drew people to him. Knowing him helped me recognize the humanity I should never have been taught to question. Our backgrounds were different, but that didn’t put us on opposite sides. Looking back, I can see how much of what we believe begins before we are old enough to examine it.

My relationship with organized religion is complicated. I have struggled with it, and I still participate in it. I see the good it can do when it offers community, peace, comfort, and love. I also understand that a religious community needs shared beliefs. My struggle comes when those beliefs discourage questions or become a reason to judge someone else’s worth.

For much of my life, I lived under a cloud of guilt and inferiority. I believed God was always disappointed in me because I was such a sinner. As a child, the Old Testament stories of God’s anger toward the wicked stayed with me.

So did this passage from the Book of Mormon: “…for we know that it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do.” —2 Nephi 25:23

It was the “after all we can do” part that troubled me. As I understood it then, there was always something more I should have done. How could I ever know whether I had done enough?

It took years to make peace with that question.

Today, my motivation is different. I try to do good because I love God. Love has become a stronger guide for me than the fear of disappointing Him. So where does unity fit into all of this?

We are raised in different homes, taught different things, and shaped by experiences no one else has lived exactly as we have. Behind every belief is a human story.

Had I been born into another family, another culture, or another religion, what might I now hold sacred? What might I feel certain was true? That question helps me approach others with more humility.

I believe in a just God who understands each person’s story more fully than I ever could. Trusting that has brought me peace. I can care deeply about my faith while accepting that someone else’s journey may look different from mine.

My own journey has been long. For years, I carried an inner struggle—fighting, questioning, and rarely feeling settled within myself. Over the past two years, something has changed. I began looking around with gratitude for my life and for where I had landed, even after some very painful choices. I had read my own tagline, “Enjoy the Journey,” countless times. I wanted to know what that felt like.

Now, finally, I am beginning to live it.

My three boys have been part of that change. Each has challenged me, in his own way, to think more deeply about religion and politics. Their questions and perspectives have led me to consider things I once overlooked.

My beliefs have evolved through those conversations. Learning has brought greater acceptance and a quieter peace inside me.

My sons don’t all believe the same things, and I have made peace with that, too. I trust that each is finding his way. Their views may change as life brings new experiences, just as mine have. I can love them, learn from them, and stay close to them throughout that process.

Acceptance doesn’t always come naturally. Neither does listening. Both take practice.

When someone is speaking, am I trying to understand—or am I silently preparing my reply? Am I hearing their experience, or searching for a weakness in their argument?

I have done both. I suspect most of us have.

We give ourselves a better chance at peace when we listen long enough to understand what matters to another person and why. We can disagree and still recognize the hopes, fears, and experiences beneath their words.

How much do I really understand about people who support the other political party? About the beliefs practiced in the churches I pass? Have I listened to the people themselves, or only to what others say about them?

And what about my own beliefs? Which have I examined carefully? Which have I carried since childhood without ever asking why? These questions can feel uncomfortable. They can also open a door.

Today, perhaps we can begin with one conversation. Ask someone who believes differently what has shaped their view. Let them finish. Stay curious. Give yourself time to consider what you hear.

We may leave that conversation with the same beliefs. We may leave with new questions. But we may also leave with a little more understanding—and a little less distance between us.

Every time we choose understanding over judgment, we give unity a chance.