Can You Hear Me Now?
The other day, I got on my husband’s bad side. And that’s when the shouting began. So, I walked around to his other side and talked into his good ear.
I’m not sure when his hearing began to go downhill. But, I’m sure it’s something we can blame on his parents. Most likely, it started when they forced him to mow the lawn to earn an allowance or when they shouted at him every Friday to take out the garbage.
And he’s not the only one who can’t understand what’s being said any more. I have a friend who claims her loss of hearing is a direct result of her vacuum cleaner. Unlike me, she turns hers on. From my dust-laden perspective, going deaf is quite a price to pay for keeping a clean house. Why, just the other day she got a phone call from someone asking if they’d reached Burger King.
What she heard them say was, "Is this Marsha Jean?" So, when the caller ordered a couple of hamburgers and a large fry, and she couldn’t deliver, everyone was upset. She did, however, offer to come over and tidy up their carpet.
There’s nothing like being misunderstood … or thinking that someone isn’t hearing what you’re saying. Why, I remember when we lived in the middle of the bleak Mojave Desert. I thought sure I wasn’t being heard. For nine years I bent God’s ear with my pleading for a move to the Northwest. And nothing happened.
So one day I decided to shout. In the shower. With the water running hard and fast. I wailed at the top of my lungs. That was even more dreadful than my singing. I told God I knew he didn’t love me. After all, why else would I be stuck in this God-forsaken place.
God-forsaken? Not really. As it turned out, God was right there.
While the tears streamed down my face, and my nose turned red, a quiet thought entered my heart, "What if I want you here?"
Well, it was like getting hit with a blast of cold water. It suddenly struck me that I might be living in the middle of nowhere for the rest of my life. And it would be that way because that’s what God wanted. For someone who’d knelt at the church altar as a child, promising God she’d go to Africa, what was I doing complaining about the California desert?
Certainly, if this was the "end of the earth" he had in mind for me, then I’d better change my attitude. After all, I might be there the rest of my days. So, I dried my swollen eyes and gave up my desires and will to him. And that’s when God could finally work in my life.
Within a year from the day that I’d cried out to him, we were driving our big orange moving van to the Pacific Northwest. It wasn’t me who orchestrated this move. It was the hand of God.
That experience happened over 20 years ago. But the lesson remains today. Even when we feel like our prayers are hopeless, and nobody understands how we feel, rest assured. Someone is listening.
God never turns a deaf ear.