"Sound Booth Moments"

There will be times in your life when you will be tempted to think that God has forgotten all about you, or that He doesn't care.  I'm here to tell you that I have been there, and it's a lonely place to be.  But, I'm also here to tell you that even though I felt like God wasn't there, He was indeed with me the whole time.  Sometimes God chooses to be silent.  However, silence is not the absence of His presence.  I call these silent times in my life "sound booth moments."  I just came up with that phrase this afternoon.

This morning, I went to an audiologist to have balance testing done.  The doctors wanted to test me to see if my inner ear is damaged or if there's another reason for the vertigo I've been dealing with these past seven months.  The testing began with lovely computerized goggles strapped to my face to measure my eye movements.  I had to follow a series of red lights moving this way and that along what looked like a very long, skinny plasma screen on the wall, using only my eyes, not moving my head.  Easy, right?  Well, I suppose once upon a time it would have been easy for me.  However, for a person who's already dizzy, it was challenging.  I then had to lie down flat, wearing the super sexy (and, might I add, heavy) goggles while the doctor blew pressurized warm air straight into my ear canal.  The warm air was going to be done in both ears, followed by cool air in both ears.  It didn't sound too terrible when he was describing what he was about to do.  But let me tell you, if I would have known what was coming I don't know that I would have let the testing continue.  As if it wasn't bad enough wearing these heavy goggles, he then proceeded to lower a flap over the lenses that made my world completely pitch black.

Before he started the air, he told me that he needed me to keep talking during the test.  "Me?  Keep talking?  No problem!"  I thought.  He told me he wanted me to say boys' names starting with A and try to get to Z, and that each time he did the air we would switch categories of things to name off, (girls' names, animals, places, etc.)  Again, I thought, "No problem.  That's easy."  So, he started with the warm air.  I think I got to N during the first round of warm air in my right ear.  The test made me so dizzy and I could hardly concentrate.  Apparently, that's the point of the test.  The dizzier you become, the harder it is to think and concentrate on things that would normally be a breeze.  They measure how your concentration is, along with your eye movements.  Your eyes tell them a lot about how dizzy you are by how much they try to correct themselves even when it's pitch black.  I got a little further up the alphabet during the second round of warm air in my right ear and thought, "OK, cool.  It gets easier as you go along."  Then he switched to the left ear.

It was much worse than the right ear, but still fairly tolerable once the flap was removed and the dizziness stopped.  However, when he switched to the cool air, it was an entirely different story.  I felt like Alice In Wonderland spiraling down the rabbit hole.  I haven't been scared to the point of crying in a long time, but that did it for me.  I only got to F, I think, on the first round.  The second round, I got to C.  I can't even describe the feeling, but my guess is that it would be similar to sitting in one of those rotating chairs that astronauts train in, completely blindfolded.  Even though I knew that I was, in fact, in a solid building lying on a solid table, my brain couldn't rationally think that way.  I was gripping the table, crying, and feeling really stupid.  I was mostly feeling stupid because for the life of me, I couldn't think of an animal that started with the letter C.  We had to keep moving, so we skipped several letters and finally he asked me to tell him about my kids.  It was awful.  (Not the telling him about my kids part.  The dizzy part.)  When the test was over I said, "Please tell me I'm not the first person to cry in here."  The doctor assured me I wasn't and said I was lucky because he's had people vomit, hyperventilate, and have full-blown panic attacks from that test.  After he told me that, I did feel lucky...and grateful that I inherited my Dad's iron stomach.  Then, I wondered if the person before me had vomited on that very table recently...hmmm.

The next step was the hearing test.  I thought it was going to be the simple "raise your hand when you hear the tone" test, but it was much more elaborate.  I was put in a completely sound-proof room.  They call it "the icebox."  I don't know if I've ever been in a completely sound-proof room before.  If I have, I don't remember.  When I walked into the room, my hearing automatically changed.  It was the first time I've ever been in a place so silent that all I could hear was the sound of my heart beating.  We did the tone part of the test where I pushed a handheld button when I heard the tones.  That was followed by repeating words that the doctor was saying as he started out at a normal volume and then brought it lower and lower.  That was followed by repeating words that a man on a CD was saying.  Then the doctor came in and put some kind of crazy headset on different points on my head and face and asked when the sound coming out of the earpiece was the loudest, and which ear I was hearing it from.  I think there were a couple other things, but I can't remember at the moment.

The final step was to sit in a chair that not only moved from side-to-side, but also spun completely around.  The chair was in what looked like a stand-up tanning booth with black walls.  The doctor put three sticky pads on my temples and forehead and connected them to wires, then put a strap across my head to hold it still.  He closed the door and everything was pitch black again.  He then proceeded to move the chair from side-to-side, at different speeds, sometimes coming to an abrupt stop, then side-to-side again.  I'm not sure if the chair actually spun all the way around but it sure felt like it.  The "grand finale," as he called it, was a series of stripes that appeared on the wall of the circular booth.  I guess only the lines on the wall were moving, but it felt like the chair was spinning as fast as it could to the left.  It very much reminded me of the Teacup Ride at Disneyland, only I wasn't having fun.  He told me the chair test wouldn't make me dizzy.  He lied.  You know, like when you tell someone, "It won't hurt a bit!" even when you know that it might actually hurt very much.  Anyway, once that was over it only took a couple minutes to feel back to "normal" again.  I was done.  I survived.

Back to the "sound booth moments" of life.  Even though I knew the doctor was on the other side of the window, I still felt alone in that completely silent room.  I wasn't sure what was coming next.  I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to hear certain things.  I was straining to hear at times and all I could hear was the sound of my heart beating and the breath coming and going from my nose.  It made me think of the times in my life where I've felt like God was completely silent.  Times where I was straining to hear His voice and, instead, was met with only the sound of the birds chirping outside, or the dishwasher humming.  Every thought in my head seemed so much louder than usual.  It seemed like I could hear every other sound except His voice.  I felt like even if I was in a completely silent place, like a sound booth, I still wouldn't be able to hear him.  The point is, when God is ready to speak he'll speak.  Don't worry about straining to hear his voice.  If he's trying to get through to you, he'll find a way.  What we need to do is not be discouraged in the "sound booth moments."  God may not speak to us right away, and he may not answer us when we want him to, but it doesn't mean that he has left us. 

Isaiah 41:10 says, "So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."  It's important that we make time to be "silent" before the Lord, especially if there is something we are really seeking him about.  It may be impossible to be in a completely silent place, but God can and will speak to you wherever you are, no matter what you're doing, in His timing.  If you find yourself in a "sound booth moment," just relax and know that even if you can't hear God, he's still there.  Even if you can't see him, he's still there.  Think of God as being "on the other side of the glass" just like my doctor was.  I couldn't hear him, and there was a time when I couldn't see him, but I knew he was there and I knew he wasn't going to leave me in the sound booth any longer than was necessary.  And if you find yourself feeling like you're spinning out of control down a rabbit hole, remember that the God who holds the earth in the palm of his hand is also holding you, and He won't let go.