Things are pretty quiet around here lately. I’ve lost my voice. Again. Paul had his thorn in the flesh; I’ve got mine—my voice. The slightest thing comes along, and my voice goes. I get too tired, and I lose my voice. More than two chapters of reading out loud, and my voice gets quivery. This time, it’s harvest season out in the rural countryside where I live, and there goes my voice again, victim to a sinus infection. As of this writing, I’ve been voiceless for 6 days.

I’ve lost my voice countless times over the past decades. Usually two or three times a year, I can count on it at least getting gravely and hoarse. At least once a year, it goes completely. Over the years, I’ve learned some valuable coping mechanisms and some valuable lessons. One year, I kept using my voice, hoarse and non-existent as it was, to the point that the doctor demanded a two-week complete rest. Fortunately, I had a computer-based job at the time, and I type really fast. My co-workers would ask me a question, and I would type out my answer. Two weeks was a very long time to be quiet. I learned that lesson, and now, when I lose my voice, I don’t strain to continue using it. I just shut up and let time heal my swollen vocal cords.

I’ve written before about using sign language with my daughters. When I lose my voice, sign language becomes my only means of communication with my daughters. Well, they can read now, but sign is faster. It becomes a giggly game as they try to “read” what I’m signing to them. One sign—“I Love You”—is never hard for them to read. I sometimes feel a bit like Captain VonTrapp in that I’ve trained my girls to come to me when I whistle for them. But it saves my voice and much frustration. Each girl has a distinct whistle, and they know to come when I call for them. It’s not a demeaning thing for them, because they know I’m unable to call them verbally. And no, I’ve not trained my husband to come when I whistle. <smile>

My biggest lesson is knowing what is worth saying and what doesn’t need to be said. Like many people, I struggle with controlling my tongue. I could give you examples from my daily (hourly) verbal banter. I sometimes get frustrated with my eight year old, because she is never quiet but always rambling on about something. And yet, she comes by it naturally. It has taken me years to learn to be quiet, and I must help her to learn the same lessons.

James 3:1-12 paints some graphic word pictures regarding the tongue:

¹Let not many of you become teachers, my brethren, knowing that as such we will incur a stricter judgment. ²For we all stumble in many ways. If anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect man, able to bridle the whole body as well.

³Now if we put the bits into the horses' mouths so that they will obey us, we direct their entire body as well. ⁴Look at the ships also, though they are so great and are driven by strong winds, are still directed by a very small rudder wherever the inclination of the pilot desires. ⁵So also the tongue is a small part of the body, and yet it boasts of great things See how great a forest is set aflame by such a small fire! ⁶And the tongue is a fire, the very world of iniquity; the tongue is set among our members as that which defiles the entire body, and sets on fire the course of our life, and is set on fire by hell.

⁷For every species of beasts and birds, of reptiles and creatures of the sea, is tamed and has been tamed by the human race. ⁸But no one can tame the tongue; it is a restless evil and full of deadly poison.

⁹With it we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in the likeness of God; ¹⁰from the same mouth come both blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not to be this way. ¹¹Does a fountain send out from the same opening both fresh and bitter water? ¹²Can a fig tree, my brethren, produce olives, or a vine produce figs? Nor can salt water produce fresh. (NASB)

Catch those word pictures? A horse’s bridle. A ship’s rudder. A small fire capable of setting a forest ablaze. Untamable. Restless evil. Deadly poison. A fountain. A fruit producer. Water. From verse 2, we could conclude that learning to control the tongue makes controlling the rest of the body easy. For that reason alone, I want to help my daughters (and myself) learn to control the tongue.

My older daughter and I recently had a conversation in which she pointed out that I interrupt her, and she thought that it was rude of me to do so. I admitted that I do indeed interrupt her, but for a good purpose. I asked her that if I saw her about to sin, would she want me to stop her, and she said yes, of course. Then I pointed out how easy it is to sin with the tongue and gave her several examples from her recent conversations. I explained to her that I interrupt her to help keep her from sinning. I can’t say I completely convinced her, but she did look thoughtful.

I went on to tell her that like all sin, sinning with the tongue starts with the heart. Matthew 12:34b tells us, “For the mouth speaks out of that which fills the heart” (NASB). Amy Carmichael wrote in her book If, “If a sudden jar can cause me to speak an impatient, unloving word, then I know nothing of Calvary love. For a cup brimful of sweet water cannot spill even one drop of bitter water, however suddenly jolted.” So, the plan is to fill the heart with goodness and to control the tongue.

Yeah, that’s the plan. The reality is sadly different, though. The other night, my older daughter told me she only kinda missed my voice. I asked her what she meant, and she said that when I lose my voice, I yell at them a lot less. Ouch. She knows I’m trying to control my tongue, and I’ve asked for her help in the matter. I think it’s good that children know that we, as their parents, struggle with sin issues too. She said she didn’t miss the yelling, but she did definitely miss the singing and reading out loud that I do daily. I guess I need to do more singing and reading and less yelling.

I wonder if losing my voice isn’t God’s way of helping me remember to carefully weigh my words before I speak, to check the contents of my heart. Maybe I need to lose my voice three or four times a year, as a refresher course. Before I can teach my daughters to control their tongues and their hearts, I need to control my own. I love Psalm 46:10. “Be still, and know that I am God.” In my (admittedly rare) stillness, it’s so much easier to know that He is God, that He alone is in control, and that He alone is worthy of my life’s endeavors. Losing my voice from time to time is a small price to pay to be reminded of those truths.

Challenge: Do you ever lose your voice? Does it cause anxiety or do you take the opportunity to enjoy enforced stillness? Are you helping your children control their tongues and the contents of their hearts?

Copyright © 2008 by Anni Welborne Share