Finding my voice

When I shared in my first entry that I hadn't found my voice yet, I didn't mean literally.

Those of you who know me, even casually, are familiar with my perennial bouts of laryngitus. After the normal cough and sniffles depart, I'm generally left with a very raw and tired throat. The only cure is vocal rest. Yes, I've tried that---whatever you're thinking of right now. And its all good, as long as I chase it with an extended fast from speech.

This is not a springboard for complaints. In everyday conversation, I'm usually an Olympic contender. It just takes getting used to, this monk's existence. Those around me are so accustomed to my enthusiastic input, that they just can't get comfortable with my silence. Its challenging for me, too. Now, everyday occurances are seen in a different light. I find myself avoiding situations where people expect me to talk; coffee-hour at church, lobbies at intermission, phone calls, social visits with friends, and read-aloud time with the family (everyone always wants me to do the reading!)

Don't feel sorry for me, really. I'm not one to waste a moment of suffering: good stuff can come from this thorn in my pocket. Digging deeply into Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster, I find spiritual grist for the mill. The Discipline of Solitude has been at my side these mornings, clothing me with the resolve to gain ground from my weakness. If you can find a copy of this classic, read it as a devotional: little bites daily go a long way. Here is one of Foster's challenges:

"...Try to live one entire day without words at all. Do it not as a law but as an experiment. Note your feelings of helplessness and excessive dependence upon words to communicate. Try to find new ways to relate to others that are not dependent on words. Enjoy, savor the day. Learn from it."

Being a huge fan of divine healing, I know that God can do that for me, too. But I'm not adverse to gleaning a few lessons while I am in this tent. There will be a day when I leave it behind, though. The canvas may be in various states of repair, patched and torn, and perhaps not even in garage-sale condition, but that's not important. It was only a covering for the spot I pitched my soul this side of heaven.

And when I get there, I'll probably have a lot to talk about.