As
I scroll through facebook, I notice another friend has quietly re-changed their
last name—a small gesture relating a
monumental life event—one of strife, tears, a journey no one but the two of
them really knows. Heartbreak, divorce.
I
grimace and pray—not another marriage,
lord. Help them, help them both to seek you, to see you in the dashed
dreams, broken promises; the last thread torn from a long fraying relationship.
Sweet Jesus, come, restore—heal broken hearts and dreams.
I
know I have no idea what I’m really talking about—perpetually single, I don’t write
these words flippantly, lightly, but I can’t stay silent. My heart whispers—there is always heartbreak in this life—the
ultimate relationship is broken and this infects every other. This side of
heaven, life will always have aches, bitter mingled with sweet reminds us to
turn to Him. He is the only one who satisfies, who can fill our voids, the only
“soul mate”, “the One”.
I
pray for discernment and protection—that if I do get married someday that it
would began to be fortified now. I need Jesus just as much today as I will on
my wedding day and each day after. We need grace for the day—not matter what
season. Self-reliance and pride are just as poisonous in singleness as in
marriage. Commitment has to be based in contentment in Jesus. I cannot look to
marriage to satisfy what only He can—companionship, acceptance, applause. I
need to recognize this, find my foundation and security in this—single,
married, divorced. Only he is our hope and joy. He gives us a new name.
Terrified,
in shock, unbelieving-not me, disabled? At 2o?!
who will love me now? How can I finish college? What will my life look
like now?
Four
small words forever changed my life—“you
have hearing loss”.
Twenty-year-old-self—I
know you can’t see past this now. It seems to mar your life, to irrevocably screw
up your plans, your dreams. It seems to
shatter every truth you knew about who you are and what you’re capable of.
Later that afternoon, as you sit on the beach, pen in hand, pages rippling in
the forceful wind—you will make a pivotal choice—to turn to, not away from
Jesus in this day of pain and fear. You chose not to get bitter, cynical, or
self-pittying—and by His grace you live that out. Sure, you have moments of
agony and deep fear—but your roots are strong—to him be the glory.
Eight
years from now you will be thankful for this day—you won’t wish it away, dread
waking up and putting your aids in, live in constant fear of losing the rest of
your hearing or not having batteries for your aids. You wont hide your aids
under your hair—you’ll again experience the freedom of wearing your hair up—exposing
those ears. Eight years out you will be so grateful for loss—for you have
gained so much of worth that surpasses your physical hearing. You’ll smile and think of how this was made for you—chosen in love to strengthen, to EQUIP—not hinder,
the life you live. Your eyes will glimmer as your mind fills with pictures of
how this loss is gain—from relating to a scared parent with a fresh Autism
diagnosis, to the way your niece gently pulls back your hair and in awe and joy
exclaims “you got my ears too!” You'll mentally change "Amazing Grace" to "I once was deaf, but now I hear" understanding why John Newton (a man who went blind) would write those original lyrics because of how physical loss can strengthen the Spirit.
Eight
years from now you will read scriptures like “Those who sow in tears shall reap
with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall
come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him” (Psalm 126) and
your heart will leap with joy—fulfilling this verse and know it’s true.
Eight years from now, today will still bring back a flood of sadness but a
bittersweet gratitude—for now you have those sheaves. The harvest of suffering reminds you pain in this life is birth pains. Trembling 20-year-old-self—this
diagnosis you think is ending your life—is actually the greatest beginning.
August 22, 2015
**just posting this after months of hiatus, but Sunday marks 8 years of this hearing loss journey**
Today,
after “adulting” most of the morning—sweeping, mopping, dusting, etc. I settled
down to read “My Utmost for His Highest” which I pick up when I remember. One
snippet of today’s devotional stood out to me.
Oswald
wrote “Get to the end of yourself where you can do nothing, but where He does
everything”.
I
was struck by how much this resembles the relationship I have with my hearing
aids. They do everything to make me here at a normal level. My ears can’t help
themselves. I cannot live the same way without my aids. They resemble the true
Helper.
And
yet, wearing them is a choice. I can
decide whether or not to put them in, to utilize their vital help in my daily
life. In a somewhat similar way, I can choose to listen to the Holy Spirit, to
daily turn to His voice, his leading , his essential aid.
We
tend to see the Holy Spirit like Jiminy Cricket—advice giver, someone on the
side to guide us. Yet, he’s more than that. He is vital. He is how we can Hear.
He is our ever present help.
