Misophonia and the Voice of God

“Do you hear what I hear?”

     -- Some old Christmas carol

I’m going to let you in on a secret, a glimpse into my own little world. I have a special power. No, I’m not faster than a speeding bullet, but I could hear one coming. I’m unable leap tall buildings in a single bound, but I could hear a spider scaling a skyscraper. Steve Austin had a bionic arm. I have bionic ears.

Like Radar O’Reilly detecting the wounded-carrying choppers, I can hear a person eating popcorn in a theater 40 seats away. However, until the FBI creates a need to overhear criminals smacking gum, my super power is basically useless. In fact, it’s more of a curse.

My supercurse recently received a name: misophonia. Misophonia is a ‘’’hatred of sound’, is a purported disorder in which negative emotions, thoughts, and physical reactions are triggered by specific sounds. It is also called ‘soft sound sensitivity syndrome’, ‘select sound sensitivity syndrome’, and ‘decreased sound tolerance’.”

Negative emotions, thoughts, and reactions: check, check, check. It’s really nice to have an official syndrome. Everybody should get one.

All of those descriptions pretty much sum up the hell in which I live at times. Certain sounds create an inner angst that makes me want to rip off my own skin. I describe my curse as the inability to block out distracting noises. I am without the ear-based filters that most sane people use to, well, remain sane. To paraphrase Cosmo Kramer, “my hammers, anvils, and cochleas are all screwed up!”

Sadly, and this is difficult to admit, but many sounds create intense internal frustrations. The inability to block out sound creates a struggle to concentrate that drives me crazy. The mini-blinds tapping against the window frame, the lawn crew down the street, and kids playing in the next yard all bug the snot out of me. Loud noises are amplified to level of a jet engine in my ears. I’ve never liked fireworks. The guy next door using a nail gun to build the Taj Mahal of Lomita turns me into a grumpy Clint Eastwood, “Get off my lawn and get out of my ears!” The other day as I was walking into a store a truck pulled up next to me and released its air brakes. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Large-group settings and social gatherings are really tough. It’s very hard for me take part in a one-on-one dialogue because I can’t filter out all of the other conversations in the room. I have to strain my ears to hear what the other person is saying. I cringe when someone brings crunchy food to a meeting. Carrot sticks and mixed nuts, seriously? What’s wrong with a nice chewy lemon bar? Where in scripture does it mandate that there must be food at all bible studies and church meetings?

Listening to people chew is a major annoyance. I require my own vat of popcorn in a theater because the sound of my own chewing blocks out the chewing of people around me. Without my it, I can’t focus, let alone, enjoy the movie.

I’ve learned to adapt. I choose my lunchroom seat carefully, avoiding apple-and-celery-eating coworkers. I bring my headphones to the beach. I wear my earplugs around the house. I mute all TV commercials. I leave the room while the dog eats. At age 47, my eyesight is finally waning. I can’t wait until my hearing starts to decline. Maybe then I’ll be able to sit in a Starbucks without being distracted by the incessant espresso machine.

I’m certain that most people don’t hear the stuff I hear. While typing right now I’ve got a siren, a truck, an airplane, and a motorcycle all in my ears. My motto is “Silence is Golden.” Too bad it’s so elusive. In my book, even libraries are noisy. However there are some sounds that I do enjoy. Babies laughing. Birds singing (when I’m not trying to read), the crack of the bat, a waterfall, and Peetey’s snoring.

There is one thing I wish I could hear more clearly. The voice of God. Wouldn’t it be great if everyday we had those voice-from-heaven-this-is-my-son moments like Jesus did? God could tell me when to take an alternate route to work to avoid a traffic jam. He could tell me to not say something stupid before I utter it. He could remind me to be more patient, forgiving, and loving before the fact. Because reminding myself after the fact is getting old. And don’t get me started on the big decisions in life. A little heads up on the housing bubble would have been peachy.

But if God was audible, things could get pretty wonky, fairly quickly. Imagine being in a crowded store:

God: Follow me.

Me: I thought I was.

God: No, the guy looking at iPads.

Me: You want me to follow the guy looking at iPads?

God: Not exactly.

So, it’s probably better that God is more on the down low. Because he does speak. As singer Chris Tomlin puts it in his song, Good, Good Father: “But I've heard the tender whisper of love in the dead of night.”

The tender whisper of love.

And you can add to that peace, forgiveness, courage, acceptance, and grace. I’ve heard his whisper in times of grief and when things are going good. I’ve heard him at home and on the other side of the world. Like anything that requires faith, there’s no formula to hearing God. There are thing you can do to quiet you mind and eliminate distractions (super hard for me). Slowing down life’s pace and reducing stress are good practices too.  God is also a great listener and I think if you ask Him for a word, he’ll provide it. Just don’t forget to slow down and catch it.

Because as Jesus said in Matthew 11:15, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”

I’ve definitely got the ears, it’s just that on most days, I wish I didn’t hear Ever…y…thing!