Last week I began to have a sore throat.  The next day I had a cough.  By Sunday, my biggest day of the week, you know, the only hour pastors work, I had progressed to being very hoarse and congested.  I muddled through church with the help of my sister.  Two days of resting have not alleviated the problem any, and I am facing the rest of the week without much voice yet a lot of talking to do.

Isn't it amazing how much we undervalue something until we don't have it any longer?  I've been without a voice before and it's an occupational hazard for a pastor, but there are usually ways to get around it.  It makes me think about the senses we can lose gradually over the course of our lives and how adaptable we can become.

I've known people who lost their sight and yet enjoyed life to the fullest, not letting their lack of vision slow them down or count them out of life.  I've known many people who have lost their hearing gradually and at times they can be very disagreeable because they feel those around them are becoming frustrated at having to repeat themselves.  Many people do not utilize their hearing aids as they should and so cut themselves out of many conversations.

Then there are those who lose mobility and must depend on others to help them get from place to place or use devices to walk or wheel their way around.  When a person is affected by the loss of sight or hearing or mobility or all three together, life becomes different.  The world becomes a different place.

So what does being without a voice do for me in terms of what ablilities I have?  I can still write, I can still communicate, but it's frustrating not to have the voice I need when I need it.  I feel at the mercy of my immune system and the circumstances of winter and cold temperatures and germs.

What other kinds of changes do we rail against in life?  Usually as we age we gain weight, we lose height because of spinal compression, and what I consider most egregious, our noses and ears keep growing so that we lose whatever proportionality our faces once had.

When I think of being silent, even temporarily, I should be grateful for the gift of silence, but I'm not.  I've become so accustomed to having background noise and music or something playing all the time that to be truly silent is difficult for me.

How about you?  Do you value silence and quiet time?  I can remember back to my fifth grade class, which was a sort of experimental year where we were allowed to do pretty much what we liked most.  What I liked to do was read, and so I spent most of my time in a chair or in a bean bag with a book.

Even in my regular elementary classes we had what was called Sustained Silent Reading, a mandatory time of reading in class.  I loved that so much more than the lecture of teachers or the chaos of noisy kids.  How I wish I could sustain myself in silence now, but the adult me wants to be busy even when I should rest.  I'm not sure how I became this person and stopped being that girl who loved books and quiet time, but I wish I could go back and warn myself not to lose that ability to be still and be quiet without feeling guilty about it.

 

Last week I began to have a sore throat.  The next day I had a cough.  By Sunday, my biggest day of the week, you know, the only hour pastors work, I had progressed to being very hoarse and congested.  I muddled through church with the help of my sister.  Two days of resting have not alleviated the problem any, and I am facing the rest of the week without much voice yet a lot of talking to do. Isn't it amazing how much we undervalue something until we don't have it any longer?  I've been without a voice before and it's an occupational hazard for a pastor, but there are usually ways to get around it.  It makes me think about the senses we can lose gradually over the course of our lives and how adaptable we can become. I've known people who lost their sight and yet enjoyed life to the fullest, not letting their lack of vision slow them down or count them out of life.  I've known many people who have lost their hearing gradually and at times they can be very disagreeable because they feel those around them are becoming frustrated at having to repeat themselves.  Many people do not utilize their hearing aids as they should and so cut themselves out of many conversations. Then there are those who lose mobility and must depend on others to help them get from place to place or use devices to walk or wheel their way around.  When a person is affected by the loss of sight or hearing or mobility or all three together, life becomes different.  The world becomes a different place. So what does being without a voice do for me in terms of what ablilities I have?  I can still write, I can still communicate, but it's frustrating not to have the voice I need when I need it.  I feel at the mercy of my immune system and the circumstances of winter and cold temperatures and germs. What other kinds of changes do we rail against in life?  Usually as we age we gain weight, we lose height because of spinal compression, and what I consider most egregious, our noses and ears keep growing so that we lose whatever proportionality our faces once had. When I think of being silent, even temporarily, I should be grateful for the gift of silence, but I'm not.  I've become so accustomed to having background noise and music or something playing all the time that to be truly silent is difficult for me. How about you?  Do you value silence and quiet time?  I can remember back to my fifth grade class, which was a sort of experimental year where we were allowed to do pretty much what we liked most.  What I liked to do was read, and so I spent most of my time in a chair or in a bean bag with a book. Even in my regular elementary classes we had what was called Sustained Silent Reading, a mandatory time of reading in class.  I loved that so much more than the lecture of teachers or the chaos of noisy kids.  How I wish I could sustain myself in silence now, but the adult me wants to be busy even when I should rest.  I'm not sure how I became this person and stopped being that girl who loved books and quiet time, but I wish I could go back and warn myself not to lose that ability to be still and be quiet without feeling guilty about it.