This past week I lost my voice. I don’t even really think I got that sick. One night I thought, “Hmm I have a slight sore throat” the next day I was talking to my roommate and my voice disappeared. Mid-sentence. It didn’t even say goodbye. I have lost my voice a LOT. Almost every time I am at a Young Life Camp by day four, my voice is toast. But this time, I didn’t see it coming.
I talk too much to lose my voice. It is simple truth. I love the sound of my own voice. I think I have some pretty funny things to say. But my voice is also really important for my job. Giving Young Life talks is part of my job description. I normally will give at least two clubs talks a month. And this month, it just so happens I lost my voice on the very day I was supposed to give a club talk…funny how these things happen.
At club, I tried my best to conserve whatever voice I had left. It was not easy. A club talk happens at the end of club. I was not going to not talk to kids. That would have been awkward. And really sad. But I did what I could.
When I was setting up for the talk, I pushed the couches as close to the front as possible. I told the kids that they would have to lean in, because there was no way my voice was going to reach the back of the room.
I would love to tell you that as soon as I opened my mouth my voice came back. It didn’t. It was more like a screech. But there I was, committed. I was standing at the front of the room. So, I had no choice but to soldier on. The talk was a flop. Like worse than an accidental belly-flop flop. I honestly felt like the guy from the old Verizon commercials, “Can you hear me now?”
I sobbed the entire way home. I moped the next day. By day three of feeling sorry for myself (still no voice at this point, my voice would not reappear until Wednesday), I was starting to feel convicted. I felt like the Lord was asked me a question; “Okay, you flopped, you had no voice, what are you going to do now?” I did the only thing I could think of. I made a wellness tea and rearranged the living room furniture. There, on my newly positioned couch, I sat and read my Bible and cried. That day of my Bible reading plan (I am trying to read the Bible in a year, I am already three weeks behind, but another flop for another blog), Psalm 29 was listed. Psalm 29 talks about the voice of God.
The voice of the Lord is over the waters;
the God of glory thunders,
the Lord thunders over the mighty waters.
The voice of the Lord is powerful;
the voice of the Lord is majestic.
The voice of the Lord breaks the cedars;
the Lord breaks in pieces the cedars of Lebanon.
He makes Lebanon leap like a calf,
Sirion[b] like a young wild ox.
The voice of the Lord strikes
with flashes of lightning.
The voice of the Lord shakes the desert;
the Lord shakes the Desert of Kadesh.
The voice of the Lord twists the oaks
and strips the forests bare.
And in his temple all cry, “Glory!”
These verses were some of the most convicting I had read in months. It was not my voice that mattered. My voice, holds no candle next to the voice of GOD. The voice of the Lord is more powerful than mine will ever be. Reading this chapter, I was given the courage to get back up again, to move on from what I am referring to as “The Great Voice Loss of 2018”.
Whenever I take someone skiing for the first time, one of the first things I tell them is to fall. Once you fall, you realize that you are able to get back up again. My talk might have been a total yard sale (google skiing yard sale videos, you won’t regret it), but I am getting back up. I might have flopped, but my God never will. He can and will use me, with out without my voice.
That is what I am putting my faith in today.