The moment had arrived. As I started a briefing with my first three week’s observations, I had a sense of peace and excitement. I understood there were holes in my observation, that I did not have all the answers. My views were simply first observations.
As I illustrated my points with stories, I knew that I was going to be heard and in this knowledge I was free to hear. Even as I talked, I realized I had been liberated. If I was confronted by a contrarian view, it was comfortable to listen and ask questions to understand why. If I was challenged, I could admit that I only knew what I knew with the possibility that future discovery would change my opinions.
As I finished, I was finished. My voice was going and gone. As I lost it, I found myself fading with an unexpected sense of coming darkness. I had no idea what the new day would bring, but I knew that I needed to do everything possible to stay as healthy as I could.
Although my efforts were many, I woke to find that despite best efforts – lots of water, vitamins and herbs to strengthen my immune system, and plenty of rest, my voice had gone of vacation. As important as the day was going to be, my strongest role would be in listening. I could barely speak! On top of that, whatever I said was usually unintelligible.
The high evaporated quickly to a sense of emptiness. Everything in me wanted to scream with an eye on heaven; “You’ve kept me on pretty short rations; my life is string too short to be saved.” (Psalm 39.5)
A friend stepped in on my behalf. When it was my turn to speak, another said, “Bill briefed me yesterday. He has some insights you will find interesting but today he’s lost his voice. It is all good.”
Life, empty or full, is good. We have others on our side, always. Its starts with Divinity; it ends with the people in our lives that care.
