From the Archive: Songbirds are Taught to Sing in the Darkness March 11, 2011

              One of the most interesting facets of my hearing loss is how it never ceases to reveal new aspects of myself. My fallen nature: irritability, anger, fear, despair, to name a few. It is something that is all-encompassing in how it transforms your life-not just surface things like wearing aids, but. From how you approach conversations (great lighting and the less background noise the better); to chosen entertainment: books and board games, less movies/plays; and even recreation: swimming is now terrifying and outdoor exercise is weather permitting (imagine running a 5K with an umbrella) since wearing a hood leads to maddening aid feedback. Dinners in restaurants are now anxiety producing and embarrassment riddled when the waiter asks how you want your burger done and you respond with "just water, thanks". You see, this loss is not just in your ears, its all-encompassing, and after 3 years, it gets a little overwhelming. You can only take so much of the daily struggles before the foundation of what you are is challenged.  Core things that keep you grounded and sane are suddenly on shaky ground, confiidence eroding. Knowing you're a capable adult is assaulted by the constant reminder of all the little things you're now incapable of-- and the scale begins to tip because of the weighty evidence that builds each day. Eventually, it's not just characteristics that defined you, like loving going to movies, concerts, dinners, swimming, etc., that are crumbling, but more deeply, your identity. All those little questions turn into a big one- who am I now? I'm not as capable, confident, care-free, and competent as I once was- and what does that mean?  You cannot see yourself the same when your life is turned upside down. Your very identity is in a limbo.

            Personally, I began to believe I was second-rate. As the days and years drug on, the embarrassment, incapability, and challenges seemed to separate me from the pack, like a zebra in quicksand. I couldn't escape and a life with my dreams as tangible seemed like a deceptive mirage. My friends and family were unable to help, and life seemed to be pretty hopeless- because who wants to strive for something unattainable? So there I sat, bleating for help but not believing it would come, or, if it did, it would be like my aids- an immense help to "making-do" with life, but not really "solving" the problem or giving hope- much less get my identity on solid ground. But see, that outlook- hopeless and jaded, leads you to isolation, sure sinking in the quicksand, and not even attempting to grasp the rope. The fight makes you sink faster, relaxing, being still in the turmoil helps you to see, buys you time, gives you hope. Thrashing in terror thwarts the tangible truths around you. But sometimes I think you need the despair to truly appreciate the hope. you need to know what its like to be hopeless, to feel second-rate, before the glorious hope, acceptance, love, and purpose of Jesus can really take root.

            This past week, I finally stopped thrashing and grabbed the rope, I have been pulled to hope. When I was at my darkest- unable to even articulate the assault the loss had put on my identity (with fear in the workplace of being more of a burden than an asset, feeling like a charity case friend rather than a needed comrade), Jesus pulled me out. In the span of 48 hours I had a new hope through two divine appointments: one, a conversation, and one with a neurolotogist, as well as a window to a dream- acceptance into a masters program for teaching early childhood special education. All these under-girded by a wonderful week with family who I know love me unconditionally. These things drastically changed the balance of the scale of hope. With a triumphant thud my identity was grounded from the years of limbo. No longer could the daily fears, embarrassment, and changes outweigh the evidence of my capability and purpose. To be honest, it felt too good to be true. Did I really have hope, purpose? Was I really "first-rate" and needed, with my limitations and all? Old habits and thoughts die hard. Would Jesus really be my rescue, my hope, NOW? Not only had my outlook on life been challenged, but more centrally, my view of my Savior. His character and provision, the goodness of his grace. I almost didn't want to believe these new hopes, provisions, because they were so unmerited-but, that's the point, the beauty of grace.

             My prayer is that these truths take root and are as constant as the ringing in my ears. May I continue to renew my mind and be transformed, rooted in the Christ who never ceases to save me.

In reference to the title, and included ink sketch I drew yesterday, here is one of my favorite quotes by Oswald Chambers, but quoted in "In This Mountain" by Jan Karon

At times God puts us through the discipline of darkness to teach us to heed Him. Songbirds are taught to sing in the dark and we are put into the shadow of God's hand until we learn to hear Him...watch when God puts you into darkness, and when you are there keep your mouth shut. Are you in the dark just now in your circumstances, or in your walk with God? Then remain quiet...when you are in the dark, listen, and God will give you a very precious message for someone else when you get in the light- Oswald Chambers