When there is nothing left to be said, shutting up would seem to be the order of the day. What had been done was so thorough and beautiful. It was inspiring and refreshing. It was sincere, and done with so much conviction. It was encouraging, and welcome, and strong. It was also greatly applauded--and then the noise happened.
The applause triggered something in someone else that made them feel the need to seize the moment for themselves. I could literally feel the mood in the room change. Not aggressive enough to say, "Please don't ruin this moment", I prayed that nothing more would be said. My prayer didn't work. The self-serving tirade was like an assault. It killed the moment and everything wonderful that preceded it. It gave not even the Spirit of the Lord room to work. All I could hear was self-serving, ranting of one who couldn't bear not being the focus of attention. The words said were grating and loud. They were borne out of envy and offense, and were very easily translated. "I have to make this about me".
The next day I was awakened--very early-- by noise. I opened the blinds and through the trees I could see the heavy equipment on the street. The noise made it's presence known. It made me think of the human noise I'd heard the night before, that was still on my mind. I shook my head. Maybe the noise itself has no idea how annoying it really is. Maybe there's a purpose for it. The fifth or sixth time I heard vehicles rumbling across the large, temporary metal plates on the street, I began to feel more sympathetic with all of the noise. It occurred to me that noise often serves a purpose that even the the person making it isn't aware of.
That morning, I wrote:
"It is intrusive, loud, and insensitive.
It arrogantly asserts itself, and tramples over the singing of the birds.
It chases away the peaceful spirit of morning, and exalts itself.
But, when I consider the end result of the construction work--smooth, even pavement; no driving hazards--I see the necessity of the noise, and the seemingly endless jackhammering becomes less annoying, more understandable, and tolerable.
The applause triggered something in someone else that made them feel the need to seize the moment for themselves. I could literally feel the mood in the room change. Not aggressive enough to say, "Please don't ruin this moment", I prayed that nothing more would be said. My prayer didn't work. The self-serving tirade was like an assault. It killed the moment and everything wonderful that preceded it. It gave not even the Spirit of the Lord room to work. All I could hear was self-serving, ranting of one who couldn't bear not being the focus of attention. The words said were grating and loud. They were borne out of envy and offense, and were very easily translated. "I have to make this about me".
The next day I was awakened--very early-- by noise. I opened the blinds and through the trees I could see the heavy equipment on the street. The noise made it's presence known. It made me think of the human noise I'd heard the night before, that was still on my mind. I shook my head. Maybe the noise itself has no idea how annoying it really is. Maybe there's a purpose for it. The fifth or sixth time I heard vehicles rumbling across the large, temporary metal plates on the street, I began to feel more sympathetic with all of the noise. It occurred to me that noise often serves a purpose that even the the person making it isn't aware of.
That morning, I wrote:
"It is intrusive, loud, and insensitive.
It arrogantly asserts itself, and tramples over the singing of the birds.
It chases away the peaceful spirit of morning, and exalts itself.
But, when I consider the end result of the construction work--smooth, even pavement; no driving hazards--I see the necessity of the noise, and the seemingly endless jackhammering becomes less annoying, more understandable, and tolerable.
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