The theme of this recent set of posts has been remembering. Perhaps that’s because winter has been a quiet time for me, a time that invites recollection, and an easy sharing. As I write, it is March 5, 2013, the 30-year anniversary of the day when received a totally unexpected and most precious gift. Although this event is long past, the gift continues to have a deep and vivid feel to it. It’s as though this gift was given to me on this very day:

Jill, my night nurse, cupped my remaining quasi-functional left ear tenderly with her warm hands and whispered loud enough for me to hear her quite surprising advice: “David, from now on, you’re going to have to listen with your heart.”

This angel, Jill, shared those words with me in my hospital room 30 years ago this very night. I hear the words again every night, as I move myself to sleep.

Jill’s bold and surprising gift came to me as I was recovering from what I’ve come to call “just one of my life accidents.” Earlier in that day, I lay stretched out in an operating room for 17 hours with my head in kind of a weird-looking, large green metallic vice. The Willie Nelson music that I’d requested had played in the background while the team of seven removed a brain tumor the size of a large tangerine.

As a result of what the medical team called “a stunningly successful procedure,” I initially lost my ability to talk and to walk. Because of the persistent and ever encouraging efforts of a fabulous cast of “singing angels” at the Northwestern University Speech and Hearing Clinic – yes, they actually sang to me – I first regained my ability to speak and then, to walk. The hearing was “a lost cause,” they explained in a matter-of-fact manner: “Totally dead right ear, thirty percent and declining in the left ear. Severed nerve during surgery caused the situation. But, don’t cry about it, David, you’re actually a walking wonder.”

So, here I am – the walking wonder –30 years later. Of course, I went through a myriad of stages: puzzlement, devastation, anger, adjustment, to name just a few. And, I still have my struggles. I get lost in a noise-filled room. Often, I want to flee. Sometimes, I do just walk away. I have, on occasion, run pell-mell from the scene.

And yet, believe it or not, a number of precious gifts have come my way as a result of this life accident. Among them – and this might come as quite the shock to hearing people – is the feeling I sometimes have that it’s just not quite quiet enough! Often, I find myself wanting to eradicate the remaining chatter and perceived nonsense that I hear going on all around me. So, sometimes (mostly undetected) I put an earplug in my remaining source of sound. The resulting quiet is heaven-sent!

Perhaps because I’ve had so many (what I’ve believed have been) angels walk into my life offering me encouraging signs, I’ve become even more of an encourager. So, in addition to silence being experienced as a gift, learning how to better encourage others has also been a gift received.

However, Jill’s gift – “from now on, you’ll listen with your heart” – is the most stunning gift of all. Every night, I thank Jill and I silently send forth this prayer: “Lord, with each passing day, help me to better… listen with my heart.”

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Thank you for being with me in this especially tender time of remembering. Perhaps my story will remind you of an unexpected and precious gift that you’ve received.