It has been a quiet week at the parsonage. Far quieter than usual. I cannot remember a time when it was quieter. If silence is golden, the week glowed with a yellow brilliance.
Have you ever noticed when you lose something, it is always in the last place you look? I could save a lot of time, not to mention energy, if I would look for that lost item in the last place first.
Back to the sounds of silence in the parsonage.
When the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage awoke from her beauty sleep on Monday morning, she discovered sometime during the night she lost her voice. It was a strange sensation that bears repeating — often.
At first, I thought I lost my hearing. I am not accustomed to starting the day with such silence. I could see my Beloved’s lips moving, but nothing reached my ears.
I must confess that there have been times when I feigned not hearing her, but this time I really could not hear a word she said. Immediately I plunged a finger in each ear to check for any foreign correspondent.
My fingers reported nothing. I must admit that clean ears are a novelty for me. God gave me such large ears attracting all sorts of stuff.
My ears produce enough wax each week to take care of 17 Rolls Royces. The strange thing was, I had just waxed my car the Saturday before.
With nothing in my ears — or between them, for that matter — I could not explain this sudden silence of my Little Lamb.
I am the kind of person who tries to find good in everything. Some circumstances severely try my efforts in this endeavor, but, believe it or not, I was able to find some good about this little incident in our parsonage.
The good news was my wife had lost her voice; the bad news, however, she insisted that I look for it.
Have you ever tried looking for something you hoped you would not find?
Through the years, I have engaged in many things my heart was not totally in full sympathy with.
Such things as Christmas shopping with my wife at the mall; going to a wedding reception for some family member; attending the Christmas play by first graders at the elementary school.
All these activities are good in and of themselves; if only they would merely keep themselves to themselves, it would not irate myself so much. As a dutiful husband and father, I bolster up both chins and go forward.
Being the considerate soul that I am, I submissively went through the motions of looking for the lost voice. (I did have my fingers crossed.)
My problem was: where do you begin looking for a lost voice? In my lifetime, I have looked for many lost items. My car keys, my wallet (especially when the check at the restaurant is due), and my mind, which I have yet to find.
However, where does a voice go when it turns up missing?
I began my search under the sofa and found a set of car keys I lost seven months ago and my checkbook that I looked everywhere for and finally had to close the account and start over again, but no voice.
I spent a few moments meditating in the garage, but did not find or hear the voice of my Beloved.
I looked in the refrigerator — pausing for a small snack without fear of remonstration from you know who. Of course, I may have been remonstrated, but I did not hear a thing.
You must admit that searching is strenuous work demanding refreshment to keep up my strength.
Now, where do voices go when they are lost? Is there such a thing as a Missing Voice Bureau? In addition, how long does a voice have to be missing before you can report it to the MVP?
When you do make out a report, how long does it sit on someone’s desk before there is a congressional inquiry into the matter?
The crisis came to a head — actually, it was my head — on Thursday morning. At the breakfast table, I could tell my wife was a little irritated at something, or someone.
Glaring across her cereal bowl, I could read her lips, and believe me; she was not whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
I just did not know what to do. Honestly, I had looked everywhere for her voice and never did find it. By Thursday evening, the novelty of the silence began to get old.
It is rather difficult to effectively communicate when one has lost her voice. Unbelievably, I was beginning to miss hearing that voice, but I did not know what to do about it.
As mysteriously as it left, by Friday morning the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage found her voice. Within three hours, she more than made up for the several days of not speaking.
Actually, I was glad to hear her voice once again.
I thought of a scripture that made a little more sense to me. Jesus once said, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand” (John 10:27-28).
Nothing is more wonderful than hearing the voice of the one you love.
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