From the Archive: Musings on a Life of Mishearing

            One of my favorite novelists described losing a sense as "being in a room, alone, with the door slowly shutting, closing you off from everything physical", or at least, the relationship with the world you had before.

            Personally, this "door of deafness" has been doing so for me for three years. That is the perfect analogy- alone, caught up in the two seemingly competing realities- the "real world" and your own reality that is ever-changing, frustrating, and an obstinate foe to your attempts to maintain your relationship with the world - others who are able-bodied and hearing. It is akin to Groundhog day, I'm Bill Murray, constantly waking up to a day with the same reality- bluffing conversations, getting embarrassed by mishearing, and in a constant simmer of anxiety that I'm going to mess up something really important because of something I can't control or change- my hearing loss. So, not only am I seemingly alone in this room, but I'm also at a loss for how to navigate its ever-changing landscape- like trying to find your way to the bathroom when you're a guest and can't find the light switch. It's a scary place to be.

            But I'm not without hope. See, the key to being in that dark room is finding the light switch, even a flashlight, anything to shed light and give you your bearings, or, like Groundhog day, realizing lessons you needed and seeing your monotonous life in a new light. This is not an easy thing- it takes the monotony, the groping for the light, to get there. I'll admit, some days it's so tempting to just sit in the darkness, to want to give up the fight to be in both worlds, to keep my foot in the door. I've never been much of a recluse, preferring to be surrounded by others engaging in meaningful conversations. But the last few months I've struggled to be intentional-why is that? I think its because I've been trying to fight on my own strength. I've let the encroaching darkness paralyze and speak lies about my future. Forgetting the hope of the flashlight, the light switch. 

            But today I have a renewed fight- not on my own power, but by a Savior who is "in the room with me" as the author explained in the novel-- "The lesson is in the fight, remembering that the Savior who created you and has a hand in your circumstances, (especially being in the room) is there with you. It is so humbling to realize I need this room, this struggle- it is my thorn in my side, my wrestling with God-- Like Paul and Jacob, it is imperative and inspiring- a fetter for I am so prone to wander. So, whatever causes you to be in the room alone- thank God for it. There is great purpose in it. Let Him be the flashlight- knowing that this trouble is achieving an eternal purpose that far out weighs the current struggle.