It's Quiet

Now that we're all alone it seems very quiet here. I feel like I'm sitting in the middle row in the middle seat in an auditorum. The stage is darkened but the room is not. Everyone has gone home and I'm still waiting for the Final Act. Did I miss something?

I have nothing to say and a billion things to say all at the same time. Today, right now I am experiencing waves of emotions, none of which feel good to me.

I have been thinking about the deaf and hard of hearing community a lot lately. I put myself in their shoes and wonder what it's like to not hear anything. I already know. It's quiet. In fact, it's deafeningly quiet.

And yet I do nothing to change the way things are. I don't go out of the dark theatre into the blinding sunlight to invite others in. I don't even leave to be somewhere else alone.

I get cynical. I shut down. I pout. And when that doesn't ease the pain I disappear.

Do I choose to be alone or does alone choose to be with me? I don't know but alone is a lonely friend.

I did this on purpose. I shut everyone out so I could listen. So why does it hurt so much?

It is in this deafening silence that I hear. I hear what I cannot hear when I am on the phone. I hear what I cannot hear when I am checking my email. I hear what I cannot hear when I am too busy tapping out my thoughts on this screen that does nothing but hum back at me. (Remind me again, why is it that I measure my worth by what this screen tells me? Why is it that I care about this piece of plastic, metal and glass?) I hear exactly what it is I was hoping to hear by shutting everything else out.

I hear Him.

Be my friend. Accept me. Like me. Love me. Call me. Meet me for coffee. Email me. Read my letters and write me back. Think of me throughout the day for no apparent reason. Let me bless you. Let me die for you.

Do you hear Him too?