A to Z Challenge: Letter Q for Quiet

It’s quiet here in my room. I have the luxury of a room to myself these days. Mom had us move out of her condo last summer and the result was that the husband got his own sleeping room and I got the master suite. It is my living room, my office, my music room (my keyboard), my craft room (sewing machine and serger and cloth stash), my dressing room with a walk in storage closet, oh, and my bedroom with a king size bed. I practically live in here because it is quiet.

The rest of the house is open plan, kitchen, dining and great room, and the television is there. It is on most of our waking hours, and the volume is turned up because the husband has a hearing problem. It is the “not quiet” place in the house. When I go out to work in the kitchen I always have to ask him to turn it down. He starts talking to me whenever I appear, in a voice so soft that it cannot compete with the TV.

Who says men can’t multi-task. Two screens at once is common.

He does have hearing aids, and they do help, but they are not perfect. When he takes them out his world gets much more quiet. The loudest thing he hears is his own voice. It’s nearly impossible to have a normal conversation with him if he’s not wearing them. There is a lot of “what did you say?” and “I can’t hear you!” going on. I wish I could remember some of the things we’ve thought we said to each other. It’s funny how much some words sound alike.

Let’s face it. Hardly any of us are going to leave this world with perfect hearing, and most of the people who need caring for have some deficit in this area. We start noticing it in crowded restaurants, and it gets worse from there.

What a disadvantage this is for those in our care! My aunt and uncle are “safe at home” in a somewhat isolated country area. Their most frequent communication is by phone. When they have discussions with their financial advisor, or one of their doctors, they are worried that they might not be hearing correctly. They often have asked me to go with them to appointments before we were sheltering in place, but now they sometimes ask me to be on phone calls with them. Being that extra pair of ears is important.

My uncle doesn’t have hearing aids, and probably will never get them. He’s pretty good at conversations if he can look me in the face and do a little lip reading and assess the context. I’ve discovered that hearing aids have a stigma attached that many elders cannot get past. They also magnify sounds in a somewhat unbalanced way no matter how high tech and expensive they are. And they malfunction. I am often buying batteries, looking for batteries and fixing the husband’s hearing aids. It’s one of those pieces of equipment that call for the McGyver in me.

For those who have not yet experienced these, they are hearing aid batteries. Tiny things.

Right now the husband has picked up his trumpet, which he hopes to be able to play again – maybe even start a small band when he gets better. It’s sound/noise that he loves. The TV is his window on the world and about the only interesting thing he does. He needs the noise. I need quiet. It’s restorative for me, and I don’t feel guilty retreating to my sanctuary (well, maybe a little bit, sometimes…).

But you would have none of it…

Sometimes I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.  I wonder if the reason my life is filled with routine, sometimes mundane activity is because I’m not a good enough tool. Maybe I wasn’t listening when instructions were being given. Maybe I was playing spider solitaire or watching tv? Maybe I was over invested in my to do list for the day, or riding my bike to allay my worries about hypertension. Maybe I just didn’t want to sit and write about something I had learned or felt – something that might have brought hope to someone desperate for a word.
Okay, I’ve come to recognize this train of thought. Left unaddressed, it gathers force and eventually has me sort of despising myself for not being something greater than I am. I could wallow in it, but don’t have time. I could go talk to a counselor, but don’t have that kind of money. I could talk to God…, yeah, I actually do that. Today it went like this.

“Help me. This angst and unrest is insanely uncomfortable.  I know you wanted me to solve the world’s problems, lol, instead I’m not even solving my own.  Should I be able to do something more than this?”

It occurred to me in the middle of this that God is probably able to put me where he wants me. Indications are that he likes it when I give him credit for that. So I started thinking that way, and it felt right, good. Felt true.  I also read from him – it’s something he told someone else, but it’s a principle that shows how he does things.



It also records the response he got which was not so great.

Whoa! Could I be doing that? I’m told to be quiet and trust and instead I’m having none of it and looking for some action?  I’m going to worry about it and figure out what to do? It’s pretty ridiculous, but it happens when I forget who God is and who I am and how different we are.

I thought about this, off and on today, and my conclusion is that I want all the quietness and rest God wants to give me. Bring it on.  I want to be alert and ready, but content, storing up that strength I’ll probably need later.  This is one of many answers to personal cries for help, from God’s word to my intellect, resulting in a kind of peace.

What does this mean in a world that doesn’t believe in a personal, relational spiritual Creator who works with people for their betterment?  God could easily say to this culture “but you would have none of it”. We fit the picture, just sayin’…