hearing with the heart -- the casting of pearls

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Date Posted: 20:26:28 04/09/08 Wed
Author: jennywren
Subject: hearing with the heart

We can hear with our heart.
You ask me" How do I hear God talking to me?"

Why child "I heard with my heart and my knower before one word trickled into my ear."

I have a nephew, Darryl, who was born stone deaf. His mother was exposed to measles and he was in college and sang "Praying Hands" in sign language. It was beautiful...

When Darryl was just tiny I watched him grow. His eardrums had never developed. It was amazing how he would look into your soul when you spoke to him with such innocence, such purity. He was so untouched by curse-words, and a special love permeated him.

He signed to his momma one day - he was just a tiny wee lad, about 6 or 7 - and he surprised his momma when she saw him stop short in his play and started signing to her, asking "Who made this?" while he pointed to the tree and handful of grass, and then to an apple on a limb as the sand trickled down through his little dirty fingers. He looked stern as if demanding to know something, his momma told us later.

"God," she told Darryl. "It is God who created all of this," as she signed to him with a smile. "Where is God?" he asked. She just automatically hit her chest, like in your heart. Darryl's big blue eyes just danced a jig as he smiled at his momma.

"He talks to me. I 'hear' him talking to me, in here," he signed and smiled so big.

"I thought so," she replied. "That is who is talking to me, in here," he continued, and he touched his heart (and hers). "He wants me to come to him, to be his child, and if it is all right with you," he said, "I am going to him."

You talk about an eye-popping time! His momma knew that he had felt the prayers, for she had folded his little hands and prayed for him almost nightly. She could almost hear his voice in all of the grunting sounds she made, not even meaning to. He indeed, gave his heart to the Lord, and God uses him mightily even to this day.

God will indeed astound the wise with this simple little child of his. Actually, he was a twin - there was a "girl and boy" - her hearing was perfect.

Darryl even learned to play the piano and had perfect rhythm. When my brother played guitar, Darryl would hold his teeth on the end of the neck of the guitar and feel the vibrations, clicking his fingers to keep time with the music he felt it in his soul. He would sit on the floor and "listen" to his momma play the piano with his ear almost glued to the side of the piano, feeling vibrations through the bones of his head, as she practiced for church. She was their pianist, and played beautifully.

Darryl never heard one song. He played, though. That piano would sound so good that he could make you cry. His mom was a strict teacher and he was determined to learn to play the piano like she did. He was in school for the deaf where he learned proper sign language.

He learned to talk. His mother made the ABC's in something like musical notes and he knew and learned when to raise and lower his voice. He got good at it, and he even did the speech at his graduation from college. For the first time, on a visit to West Virginia, I heard him say," Hello Aunt Jenny." I could have fallen over. It shocked me so. I just stood crying and holding him. Darryl just laughed and looked into my heart and said, "I love you, Aunt Jenny."

We cried together, my sweet brother's boy.

His large coral group sang "How Great Thou Art," signing the words, as one young girl sang the words. Oh my! There was not a dry eye in the place!

What a treasure is that child, who is a grown man now. I have lost touch with him. Maybe this, my story of remembrance, will some day find him on the net. Won't that be a surprise?

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