About four months out from surgery and I still have a paralyzed vocal cord. My vocal doctors have recommended a permanent surgery, but I am giving God some room first to do whatever He wants. So we’re putting off any big decisions until the end of the summer. I want to give God and my body at least six months. So I’m waiting and praying. And hopefully learning.
There are many things I’ve missed during this season of quiet. I have missed drive-throughs. I’ve missed talking on the phone to people that I love. I have missed lunches out with good food and great conversation. I have missed teaching. I’ve been writing on chalkboards, creating classwork, and constructing would-be sermons since I was a little girl. Teaching is like a second leg to me. I miss that leg. I have missed reading aloud to my girls. My carefully selected collection of books has sat unused on my shelf for months now. I miss being able to call for my children from another room, although they’ve become really good at listening. This lost ability has cost me much time and energy. 😉 I have missed praying over people. I love to pray. I have missed leading. The innate yearning in me to impart is like an appetite I have no food to feed. I miss encouraging people; offering a kind word along with a smile. I miss being able to fill any gaps or holes; stepping up to say “yes” at a moment’s notice. I have missed singing. Really, really missed singing. I’ve found that music loses a little bit of its appeal when I can’t sing along. I miss the ease of an interesting dialog. I miss blending in in public. I don’t like to stand out, and my limitation stands out like a blaring horn. I never knew being so quiet could feel so loud. I miss the health I took for granted. I miss what the thief and time have stolen. I miss being unaware of such limitations. Age and sickness have a way of reminding us of our limited humanity.
But there are many valuable lessons I’ve also learned from being quiet. I’ve learned, to a new measure, that everyone is going through something. Most people are just trying to make it through the day; not because they are too selfish to see the needs of others but because we’re all broken vessels trying to keep it all together. I’ve learned to a new level that in reality worship has very little to do with music or singing. It is a state of the heart. It is something that isn’t written in ink and stanzas or played by pianos and guitars. It can’t be mastered and there is not a style that can grasp its fullness. It is written with choices and obedience and played out in faith and attitude. I’ve also been reminded with great emphasis that success is not defined by accomplishments and milestones. It’s measured by growth and fruit. That can happen when it looks like nothing is getting done. I’ve learned that when we feel alone, it’s often meant to cause us to look up and see that His eyes are on us; that we always have His full attention. When we feel invaluable, it’s meant to make us reevaluate the methods we previously used to gauge our worth. When we have no answers, it positions us to sit at His feet more ardently than ever before. I’ve learned that an absence of answers isn’t necessarily punishment for our lack of attention in the past, but a gift for the moment. I’ve learned that when we are forced into a corner of quiet, He is louder than He’s ever been. When the enemy tries to take out a faculty, another normally compensates. When he tries to take out the eyes and the voice, the ears become quite acute. I’ve learned that God is always saying things worth hearing. Sometimes He has to shut us up so we can hear them.