And Yet God Was With Me

 

I had the privilege of helping lead a retreat this past weekend. 

Around 40 Lutheran women from NC gathered in Isle of Palms, SC, to talk about 

Making a Joyful Noise through Music, Worship, and Dance. 

My friends Jes, Carolyn, and Heidi (Not the Librarian) met on Wednesday nights for a couple of months, 

Logging around 75 collective hours of

Brainstorming, texting, reading, writing, making handouts, making lists, ordering supplies, practicing, and packing 

In order to be ready for the weekend. 

 

And we were ready. 

 

I was even ready to lead contemporary worship,

Which I hadn’t done in years!

 

And then I lost my voice.

 

Again.

 

This time, I went to the doctor.

I had another upper respiratory virus that had once again settled on my vocal cords. 

 

I prayed and prayed that God would heal me. 

I prayed and prayed that I would get better. 

I prayed and prayed that adrenaline would kick in and that I’d be able to sing. 

I prayed and prayed and prayed for a miracle. 

After all, I was trying to do God’s work.

 

I took Thursday off work to rest my body and voice,

I’m on high powered cough syrup, Tylenol, ibuprofen, and a steroid, 

But I’m still not completely well. 

 

And the retreat is over.

 

I don’t know why God acts when God acts 

Or why God doesn’t act when God doesn’t.

 

I don’t know why I had to experience a retreat, 

One of my favorite things in the world, 

On music and worship, 

Two of my favorite topics in the world, 

Not feeling my best and not having full voice. 

But I did. 

 

And now it’s up to me to respond.

To celebrate teamwork and compassion and sharing the load and silence and humility and movement—

All things of God that came to light and remain even in the midst of

The sadness and frustration that, 

If I’m honest,

I feel

Over not being at my best to lead.

 

God did not heal me of my upper respiratory infection in record time. 

God did not fix my voice so that I could sing.

But God was with me. 

And God, through time and medicine and rest, 

Is making me well. 

 

And God is doing the same in you too, friend.

Wherever you are, 

Whatever you’re going through,

God is with you.

And God loves you.

So very very much. 

 

Amen. 

Voiceless Coughing

 

It only took one Friday night cough for me to know that

I wasn’t going to have full voice on Sunday morning.

One cough told me that a cold was coming to sit in my chest and take my voice away.

One cough dashed weeks of hopeful planning for singing a powerful duet.

One cough set into motion numerous measures to keep my voice from leaving,

But to not avail.

I woke up yesterday morning unable to sing.

Truth be told,

I could barely talk.

 

To say that I was aggravated is an understatement.

I had been at home all week,

Not around known germs,

Resting,

And I still got sick.

Again.

 

And I got sick on a weekend I was scheduled to preach and sing.

The entire sermon was inspired by a song,

Yet suddenly my voice was stripped away and I was left singingly mute.

I muddled my way through the sermon with fear and trepidation.

The last time I preached, I was afraid of a nosebleed.

This time, I was afraid of a cough.

Last time, the nosebleed waited.

This time, the cough did not.

I coughed quite a few times,

My nose ran,

Tears rolled down my face from watery eyes,

And I was left standing there trying to deliver the message that was burning in my heart

But that I couldn’t get out of my mouth with voice inflection or style

Because I was on the verge of coughing with every word.

 

Thankfully, my friend Jes stepped in and sang a beautiful solo.

As she sang:

“You can pour your soul out singing,

A song you believe in,

That tomorrow they’ll forget you ever sang,

Sing it anyway,”

I fought back tears,

Thinking,
“You can pour your heart out speaking

A sermon you believe in,

But the message will get lost in

Every cough,

Preach it anyway.”

 

Preach it anyway, with whatever voice you have.

Sing it anyway, even if the singing is in your head.

Show up anyway, fully aggravated or completely pleasant.

Love anyway, because you must.

Even when it seems your best is not good enough.

God still is…

Anyway.

 

Amen.

 

---

 

An excerpt from my sermon:

 

But, Deanna, we aren’t Jesus. 

And it’s hard to love

When someone speaks ill of us or someone we love,

When someone mocks all that we hold dear, 

When someone gives us the cold shoulder and refuses to work alongside us, 

When someone is flat out mean and seeks to destroy forward progress,

It’s hard to remember that they, too, are God’s child.

 

Yes. 

 

It is. 

 

But God created all humankind in God’s own image and 

Called humankind, 

At its core,

Good. 

 

And so Jesus challenges:

 

Love your enemies (because they are human.) 

do good to those who hate you (because they are human).

bless those who curse you (because they are human). 

pray for those who mistreat you (because they are human). 

 

You don’t have to like them. 

You don’t have to accept their bad behavior. 

You don’t have to remain silent in the face of injustice  

And you don’t have to endure abuse.

 

But Jesus challenges you to love.

To wish upon all people God’s higher good—

However that wish manifests itself in your life.

 

(pause)

 

Love them anyway. 

Sick

 

I’m sick.

Again.

Have you noticed the pattern?

After every major trip,

I get sick.

It’s my souvenir.

But it’s not a very pleasant one.

 

After Europe last summer, I had Covid.

It put me out of commission for 10 days.

 

After Disney this fall, I had a cold that took my voice for three weeks.

Thankfully, I didn’t feel too bad, so I didn’t miss work.

I just missed my voice and that was very, very frustrating.

 

After NYC this past weekend, I have what I’m calling the flu,

Although I haven’t taken a flu test.

I missed work yesterday and today, and the jury is out for tomorrow.

Fever, cough, vomiting, a general feeling of malaise.

I’m thankful for high powered cough syrup and pain killers.

And I’m thankful for a mom who made me Jello.

 

I wish that I had some words of wisdom to offer in my convalescence.

But I don’t.

My bed is calling my name and my eyelids are starting to shut as I write.

So I think I’ll close this note up by saying this:

Wear a mask when you travel, Deaton.

Then maybe you won’t come home sick.

😊

Observations of No Voice

 Teaching with no voice is not much fun. It’s made for a frustratingly exhausting week, and it will end tomorrow night with a program that’s looking and sounding about as rough as me.

 

That being said, I haven’t been firing on all cylinders this week, but I’ve had enough brain space to observe the following things:

 

1)    1.  Students with a lisp say, “Five little pumpkins sitting on a gate” as “Five little pumpkins shitting on a gate.” It’s funny.

 

2)    2.  Some students are understanding and kind when you have no voice. Other students are not. Some students make fun of you and call you grandpa when you have no voice while other students stick up for you and defend your honor. Some students ask if you’re okay and give you hugs to feel better when you’re sick. Others do not. Most students fall somewhere in the middle of concern and excitement and then wander around the room and talk/sing really loudly because they know that you will have trouble stopping them.

 

3)     3. Young fast-food workers are often not properly trained and are paid so little that many have little to no motivation to go above and beyond and figure things out on their own. Twice now, I’ve waited for over 30 minutes at one particular restaurant in the past few weeks. Most recently, when I went inside, an older worker was standing there with her arms crossed. When I said I’d been waiting outside for thirty minutes, she simply rolled her eyes and said, “That’s what you get when you put a bunch of young people in here.” I thought to myself, “Maybe. Or maybe they’ve learned from you.” Children must be carefully taught. We can’t assume that they know or know how to do anything. Contrary to popular belief, teenagers are just big kids. Rules, procedures, routines, customer service, content area—all of it—children must be carefully taught.

 

Oh God: Help us to teach our children well. Help us to teach them a strong work ethic, to be considerate of persons who are sick, and to speak well. And God? Help me to get my voice back so that I can use it for good. In fact, help all of us to use our voices for good. Amen. 

Corridor of Daggers

One of my friends has erased her finger prints by using so much hand sanitizer over the years. After being sick for the past few days, I’d gladly erase my own finger prints by way of hand sanitizer if it’d keep me from feeling like this again.

Maybe my tolerance for pain has lessened as I’ve gotten older, but I declare that I was absolutely miserable and felt a little like death at the height of this little bug on Thursday night.

It started Wednesday night with a sore throat. I jolted myself awake in the wee hours of Thursday morning and spent around ten minutes talking myself down from a panic attack of being sick, alone, and not able to breath. I woke up Thursday morning not feeling great, but I got up and got dressed because missing work is discouraged. The closer it came to leaving time, the more certain I felt that I really didn’t feel well, so I made the decision to stay home. I sent all appropriate messages and then went back to sleep.

When I woke up, I felt worse. And as the day progressed, I continued to feel worse. From no fever to a baby fever to a fever of 102; from a nauseous stomach to one that couldn’t keep anything down; from a sore throat to a sorer throat…I was not in good shape.

Different people had different ways to know that I was really sick: My mom knew that something was really wrong when I didn’t leave the house to volunteer for Harnett Off-Broadway; I almost always volunteer for my non-HOB nights. And my dad knew that something was really wrong when I didn’t have enough energy to let Bullet off the porch.

When I wrote Olga-Bullet’s-Real-Mom to ask her to take care of Bullet, she asked if I needed anything. In my fever-induced drunkenness, I asked for Gatorade and Ibuprofen. Sometime later, after a mystery Adam Sandler movie, during Home Alone 2, both of which I only saw bits and pieces because of said fever-induced drunkenness, Olga knocked on the door and delivered Gatorade, Ibuprofen, and raspberries for tea. She wanted to help her neighbor, and she did helped her neighbor indeed.

My fever broke sometime during the night that night. I was up and down all night—hot, cold, sweating, freezing, trying to swallow through what felt like a corridor of daggers. A good friend brought Lysol to the house on Friday so that I could disinfect my sick living quarters. I spent Friday resting. I spent Saturday resting—although I did move my resting position to the movie theatre to see Beauty and The Beast (which was very good) and then to Urgent Care to receive a negative strep throat diagnosis but medicine anyway because my throat looked so bad. I had to work yesterday, but every moment not working was resting. I had to work today, and go to class tonight, but in between I took a nap.

My throat is still very sore. The corridor of white daggers still there. For now I have all fingerprints. But if sanitizing my hands to avoid walking this corridor again is what I need to do, then I will be a glad sanitizer, disappearing fingerprints and all.