I Can't Talk

It's a long story. 

Last fall I noticed that five minutes into the Sunday message, my mouth would go into what I call "cottonmouth" condition. It was literally as if I had a wad of cotton balls in my mouth. Our audience would watch me reach over to my side table and grab the cup of water. I'd try to keep talking, take a few sips of water, and keep going with the message. 

This began to happen each week.

I was advised to drink more water. I did. I was advised to drink more water on Sunday mornings before the services started. I did as advised. I was advised to not drink any caffeine on Saturdays. I stopped my usual early Sunday morning cup of coffee. I would consume several bottles of water in hopes it would prevent the "dry mouth" problem. It didn't. All that water did create a new problem...a need to be close to a men's room!

Then, I noticed it happening every time I'd step up to speak: at a wedding, a funeral, a staff meeting, a brief greeting to a gathering of volunteers. It was very concerning and, honestly, frustrating. 

My brother is a physician with Integris Edmond and was helping me deal with it. Then a visit to my ENT brought news I did not expect. 

On Monday, February 7, I arrived at Dr. Visor's office. I gave the best description I could describing the pain of a constant sore throat. And then he said four words I've heard him say many times through the years: "Let's take a look." It's a procedure I've had many times and it is best that I not describe the various sensations caused as this small camera makes its way to my esophagus. 

Once the scope was out and back into his hands, he said these words: "You have a hematoma on your vocal cords." He followed up that sentence with the words: "the only way to cure this problem is to talk as little as possible for at least six to eight weeks." I've never been silent for a day or two, let alone eight weeks. He then said, "We can use a needle to remove the hematoma, but I prefer we not do that." I quickly agreed. 

I headed back to the office to get our very capable pastors lined up to speak on the weekends until Easter Sunday. After getting confirmation from our pastors, I let the staff and Elders know about the situation. We also recorded a humorous video (and another one here) we'd show to inform the congregation about the situation.

It has become the sabbatical I never planned. It has forced me to "be still and know that he is God." It has been an experience where God "made me lie down in green pastures." I'm now seven weeks into this "silent season" and my voice is healing. I will speak again to the congregation in four weeks on Easter Sunday. 

In the first chapter of Luke, we are introduced to Zechariah and Elizabeth. We are told that this couple was "righteous in God's eyes, careful to obey all of the Lord's commandments and regulations." And, oh by the way…"They had no children because Elizabeth was unable to conceive, and they were both very old." 

One day Zechariah was serving in the temple and an angel of the Lord appeared to him and said, "Don't be afraid, Zechariah! God has heard your prayer. Your wife, Elizabeth, will give you a son and you are to name him John." 

That was great news for Zechariah. But his immediate response was, "How can I be sure this will happen? I'm an old man and my wife is also well along in years." And the punishment for expressing his doubt was to be unable to talk until the child was born. It is easy to assume he was silent for nine months. We are also given an indication that he was also unable to hear during this time.

There have been days that eliminating most of my conversations were a very frustrating hassle. And on those days when I'm frustrated with the situation, I think of Zechariah. Nine months! No words and the inability to hear. 

After reading the story of Zechariah, eight weeks of minimal talking doesn't sound so bad. And...I can still hear!

My doctor took a look at my vocal cords last Thursday and the hematoma is gone! My commitment to minimal conversations these past eight weeks has paid off.

This has been a difficult eight weeks as I had to be detached from so much of our ministry impact; yet, the reward has been watching the church thrive. I am beyond grateful, and I can’t wait to be with you around the church this weekend and speaking on Easter Sunday.

Thanks for all of the prayers and encouragement. You are truly a blessing to me.