I have always been speechless… well, most of the time. As long as I can remember I have had a stutter; or is it a stammer? Or maybe both?
I quickly learned that participation in lessons at school were an invitation to be mocked and bullied, so as far as I could I stayed quiet…
My childhood at home didn’t really help either. There were occasions, just a few, when I would be teased and laughed at by my own parents. Added to which, we were brought up in a religious environment, where the ultimate position was something along the lines of, “This is what we believe; we expect you to believe the same.” Not dissimilar to, “Because I said so!”
As a young adult I made my own faith decisions. The church youth group was big, healthy and a lot of fun. I discovered that I could make people laugh and that people were prepared to be patient with me and listen to me. For the first time ever, my opinion mattered and counted for something.
As time passed, I learnt how to speak in public. It started with very short epilogues and then leading the youth group discussion, and then finally preaching on Sunday mornings. Friends were very kind, encouraging me into church leadership, which I loved… and needed. And then trouble. The thrill of being heard, of being influential, of being in the know went to my head. I became difficult even to the point of arrogance. I fell out with several church leaders over the years until I was shoved onto The Dark Path.
Bullied, threatened, abandoned and ignored.
Only this time I was content to not have a voice. It was my voice that got me into so much trouble, so I learnt to accept not having one. I hid, in the shadows, at home, in the safety of my family and those very close friends who stood by me and supported me.
While on my Dark Path, I had some counselling. My counsellor was a top bloke and very wise. I remember it clearly, the day he asked me to listen to a Josh Groban song. Not my favourite sound, but a song that talked about not being heard, not being listened to, except by The One, My Papa, The God of my story and journey.
My time on The Dark Path became a catalyst for walking, the same route along the beach, day after day, and while walking I learned that I never have to be speechless again, because there is The One. I would pour my heart out to him, day after day, week after week, and now year after year. To start with he listened and he still does. But gradually, over time, things changed, and I became more interested in what he had to say; and then content to just enjoy being aware of him.
More recently, I have been reading and thinking about the mystery that God is, and has to be. If there is a God, then by definition, he has an “otherness” about him. The understanding of him, and the challenges of life that throw up apparent contradictions and opposites and incompatibles, has brought me to a point in my journey and story where I am coming to live with the tension of being known by, and knowing, somebody who is outside time and space, and yet lives within the limitations of time and space. The result? Speechless!
Because there are not enough words to explain the God that I call Papa; because my vocabulary is too limited to describe the outrageous and endless love that he has drowned me in; because I never thought I could love him as much as I do while accepting that I will never love him as much as he deserves.
Only now I am content and satisfied to be quiet and silent and still. Speechless before the mystery and intimacy of My Papa.