I was exhausted as I went to bed Friday. Noise all day long. Arguing children at breakfast. Murray barking at squirrels. My husband whining for more coffee. Work was equally noisy. The phones rang constantly. Everyone needed a plumber and I was arranging schedules to fit everyone in on time. On the way home, a fire truck, an ambulance, and several police cars passed me. I arrived home to chaos. Dinner. Homework. Dishes. Blaring television. Loud rock music. Falling into bed, my last coherent thought was “oh, to have a day with no noise.”
I was startled to hear a voice. “So you want a day of quiet? I will grant your request. From this moment on, it will be as if you could never hear. All memories of noise have been erased. You will now live a life of silence.” I turned my head but did not see anyone.
I wakened later and looked at the clock. Seven-thirty. I could not figure out why I had not heard the alarm. Turning to my husband, I said, “Roy, it’s after seven.” My husband smiled at me. His mouth moved but I could not hear his words. “What?” Again, he repeated himself, this time using his hands as if speaking. Funny thing, I was able to understand that he signed, “today is Saturday.”
Rising from bed, I wandered into the kitchen, marveling at the silence. All audio memories were gone. I started to enjoy the quietness. I watched my three teenagers at breakfast. It looked as if they were fighting, but I could not hear them. I smiled and walked into the living room. The television was turned on, but I could not hear the sound.
A few weeks passed and everyone spoke to me with sign language. It seemed normal to them, but to me, it was still odd. As my husband talked with his hands, I could almost recall hearing his voice in the past. I began to wonder if I had only dreamed of hearing.
Then I thought about music, but realized I couldn’t remember what music sounds like. Music had always been important to help me worship Christ.
I found a dictionary and read that music is the art of ordering sounds in succession, having rhythm or harmony. I could not recall the sounds of a harp or piano.
I opened the Bible to Psalm 108:1 and read: “My heart is steadfast, O God; I will sing and make music with all my soul.”
I suddenly realized that I was missing much in my silence. I could not hear my husband tell me he loves me, I could not hear the laughter of my children, I could not hear the words of God in song, and I could not hear the purr of the cat. I wasn’t sure who had taken away my hearing that night several weeks ago. I knew that I had made a terrible mistake. I prayed for forgiveness. I asked God to return me to my pre-deaf life. I wanted to hear again. I wanted to hear my husband’s voice and the chatter of the teenagers. I wanted to praise God vocally. I prayed for several hours, finally falling into bed in an exhausted sleep.
RING. The alarm blared in my ear. I jumped up and stared at the clock. I could hear! I shook my husband awake and said “I’m not deaf.” Jumping out of bed, I scurried into the kitchen and chuckled at the teenager’s verbal arguments. “Good dog,” I said to Murray as he barked at a squirrel. I held the cat to my ear and heard her deep purr. Putting Celia down, I turned the radio on and sang a song of praise. Roy and the teens looked at me oddly. “What is going on?” my husband questioned.
“I am so thankful that I have ears that can hear.” As they looked at me in confusion, I said, “It must have been a dream.”
Tony, my son, laughed, “Mom, you’re a hoot.” Brenda said to Karen, “you stole my cereal.”
Amid arguments, the radio, and the barking dog, life returned to normal. What sweet music to my ears.
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