Finding Quiet in the Noise

I had forgotten how noisy the city is . . . forgotten how it seems to hum even in the darkness of the night.  There is constant travel fourteen floors down from my hotel room on the streets . . . horns blaring . . . sirens wailing . . . screeching tires . . .whistles blowing.  The noise is constant like a heartbeat for the city.  Then add to this base line hundreds of thousands of people moving up and down the street . . . talking . . . yelling . . . screaming . . . crying . . . and, singing.  It is kind of like a melody line in music playing over the sound of traffic.  There is noise everywhere . . . constant noise.

Yeah, I had forgotten how noisy the city is; but, what should one expect when they shove a couple of million people into Philadelphia proper . . . more than double the whole population of Montana spread out over the 147,046 square miles that makes it a state. I think it gets noisy whenever two or three people gather . . . imagine the noise when a couple of million are milling around.  It gets noisy.

Since being in Philadelphia I have noticed that I do not hear as well . . . I have a hard time hearing . . . especially when I a outside.  Now, I know it is true that the wife thinks that I have a hearing loss . . . something more than a husband's selective hearing loss . . . especially when I get into crowds.  I know that whenever I am in a group of people I have to lean in close to hear what they are saying . . . but since being in Philadelphia I have turned to lip read (which I am terrible at).  I just don't hear well and I do not think that the noise is helping.

I wonder how the people who live here put up with the noise.

I guess I never realized how quiet Montana is . . . or at least the part where the Keener Homestead is . . . or the parts where I am in the mountains.  In the quiet of where I live I can hear the birds sing . . . I can hear the geese honk and the the Sandhill Cranes cooing as they fly over.  In the night I can hear the cows mooing and the coyotes howling.  I can hear the Rock Creek rushing down its banks.  I can hear the wind rustle through the trees.  I can hear the breeze move through the tall grass.  I can hear the snort of a moose . . . the bounding of deer.  It is amazing how much of God's natural presence one can hear in the quiet . . .

. . . but, here, in Philadelphia, I have not heard the birds sing.  I have not even heard a dog bark.  From the fourteenth floor of the hotel I have barely heard the wind over the traffic from the street below.  This is a noisy place.

I don't know about anyone else, but I know that noise makes me irritable if I am in it for too long.  Makes me grumpy.  I need quiet in my life.  I think the people in the hotel understand the noise of their city.  In my room is a little note on the desk stating: "For added tranquility, please feel free to use the complimentary earplugs located in the nightstand drawer."  Sure enough . . . there are two sets of earplugs in there.  I don't think I need them for sleeping, but I am thinking about using them for walking around the streets of Philadelphia.  Research shows that noise makes children and adults more aggressive . . . Philadelphia has a fairly high rate of crime and violence . . . maybe, they should be passing out earplugs on the street.

Noise changes a person.  I can feel it and I have only been here for a little over twenty-four hours.  I cannot even imagine what living here would do to me . . . I'd become a crazed pastor (well, more crazed than I am now).  I could not live without the quiet.  I feel sad for all of these folks.  Sad that they cannot find the quiet in the noise.

I like to paraphrase the part in the Bible that tells us to be still and know God.  I like to think that in that stillness there is also quietness . . . quietness because we need to hear God . . . in the birds singing, the wind blowing, the breeze moving through the grass.  In all of this noise, where is the quiet?

If I am going to be honest, then I have to admit--like everyone else, that there is noise in my life that drowns the voice of God.  These days in Philadelphia only serve as a reminder of that fact.  The noise may not be caused by traffic or people . . . but it is still there drowning out the needed silence.  The noise of problems in my life . . . the noise of relationships between family, friends, co-workers, and many others . . . the noise of the life happening around me that touches me directly and indirectly . . . the noise of loneliness, sadness, anger, hate . . . there is noise in my life.  At times it gets pretty noisy in that rock garden between my ears . . . and, the reaction is the same.  I get irritable and grumpy . . . I get aggressive . . . and, I get lost.  Lost from who God created me to be . . . and, lost from God.

Yet, I know that there is a quiet place within all of us.  A place where there is no noise.  A place where the presence of God can be heard.  And, I know that it does not matter where I am . . . in the noise of Philadelphia or the quietness of a mountain meadow in Montana . . . that quiet place exists and waits for me.  I know that I just need to be still . . . to be quiet . . . and, listen.  God's voice will find me in the quiet.  I just have to keep reminding myself . . . be still . . . be quiet . . . even in the noise God is there.

With such knowledge I think I can make it.  The crazed preacher is in retreat . . .

Time Warp

Dorothy said, "This ain't Kansas any more, Toto!"

There was a time I thought I was halfway "urbanized" . . . halfway "East Coast"; but, that is no longer the case.  This business trip to Philadelphia to attend the national conference for the Council for Exceptional Children has pretty much confirmed what I did not suspect . . . I have lived too long in rural America to ever feel completely comfortable with the city life . . . and, it does not matter whether it is on the East Coast, West Coast or anywhere in between.  I have been away far too long to accept what I am experiencing as "normal" when compared to what I presently live.  Philadelphia is not Montana . . . nor Nebraska . . . or even (and I cringe to say it), Kansas.

I am a country bumpkin in a strange and foreign land.  People do things differently back here in the BIG city . . . plus, there are a hell of a lot more of them!  I think I have seen and encountered more people today in a span of less than twenty-four hours than there are in the whole state of Montana from border to border . . . and, I have experienced them in the airports and in the ten-something blocks I have wandered around since arriving in Philadelphia.  There are people every where!  Seems everywhere I turn there are more and more people.  This is enough to drive an introvert crazy!  I am not used to being in contact with this many people in one day . . . people, people, people!

Not only are there lots of people . . . the people are all in a hurry.  Where they are in a hurry to get to, well, I don't know; but they are always moving and moving fast.  I imagine they are just going about the paces of their lives, but they do it so quickly.  They never look a person in the eyes.  They just press onward and forward.  Not one person acknowledged me whenever I said, "Excuse me" or simply acknowledged them with a simple "Hi".  Which brought up another observation . . . the further east I went in the United States, the less courtesy there seemed to be.  I was bumped, shoved, tripped, maligned, and looked at like I was an idiot, and not once did anyone practiced common courtesy by saying, "Excuse me."  The behavior I experienced is not something I am not used to because I experience it all of the time at Walmart . . . you know what I am talking about . . . that mindless, lost in space, sort of behavior where people forget to practice the Golden Rule because they are in shopper's paradise.  It runs rampant the further east one goes.

Of course, the people don't see this as a problem . . . this is just the way life is for them where they are living.  It is not their problem, it is our problem . . . those of us not used to such living.  I realize that because it is the same thing that my sister (from back east) complains about whenever she comes to visit me in whatever rural location I am living at.  She says the "laid back" attitude drives her crazy.  The people being nice to one another and actually expecting a reply when asking, "How ya doing?"  The slow pace kills her.  So, apparently, this is a two-way street.  Yet, at my age, introvert or not, I still like to be acknowledge with more than an abrupt bump as someone is rushing by.  Haven't seen a lot of that from the locals yet . . . they are too busy living their lives to realize there are others out there.

Now, I said, I once considered myself to be fairly "urbanized".  I spent a few of my years in a very populous area . . . the Washington, D.C. area . . . and, I adapted fairly well after some time.  I learned how to survive and not do the ultimate faux pas . . . things like flipping off driver while driving on the Beltway . . . better safe than shot!  But, I have been gone too long . . . been out in the wilderness for much too long . . . I have settled into the ways of Ma and Pa Kettle.  I am about as urbanized and comfortable in the big city as Dorothy was in the Land of Oz.  It is a sort of time warp I am experiencing.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I see this challenge as a sort of an adventure . . . just like Dorothy in trying to get back home.  That is kind of what I feel like . . . Dorothy trying to get back home.  I am encountering people who are different than me . . . but, there is more diversity within the one block of the hotel where I am staying than there is within a sixty mile radius (probably even more) where I live in Montana.  And, I am encountering a heck of a lot more people . . . I don't like living where the people live on top of one another.  That was one of the major selling points and reasons why I moved to Montana in the first . . . there are no people!  People live differently out here than we do out west in the rural parts of the country . . . strangely, but they think the same about us.  Things are different . . . like stepping into a warp of time and place . . . almost surreal.  Sure, it is frustrating, but it is not bad.  It is just different . . . not what I am used to . . . and, that is what makes it an adventure.

Despite the differences these folks were created in the image of God, just like I was.  And, they are also considered to be a part of God's family, just like I am.  Like me, they are just trying to figure out how in the world they are ever going to find their way home.  We have more in common with one another than we have different . . . it is that our differences drive each other crazy.  But, we can say the same thing about those we are closest to . . . our spouses, children, and friends . . . they drive us crazy too. We are family!  And, if we are going to be honest, there are things about our family that drive us nuts!  Yet, we love them anyways.

That is the challenge of this adventure . . . well, that and surviving . . . to love them anyways.  So what if they are never going to acknowledge me until I bump into one of them spilling their ten dollar cup of Starbucks coffee.  True, being cursed at is no fun . . . but, hey!  At least they will know that I am there.  I will return home, I always do, sigh a sigh of relief that I am home where life seems normal . . . but, I will also return home with a greater appreciation of those who are different than me.  The problem is not them . . . it is me.  I am the fish out of familiar waters, not them.  I stepped into their world, not my world.  I just have to keep reminding myself, "This is not Kansas (Montana), Toto!"

Thus the adventure begins . . . a foreigner in a strange land . . . or is it a stranger in a foreign land . . . or is it just me being strange?  Whatever the case, the adventure begins . . . what lessons will I return to Montana with?  Who knows . . . but I do know that I will never develop an affinity for expensive coffee and teas . . . shoot!  Five bucks for a cup of tea when a whole box of fifty Lipton tea bags is just a little over four dollars . . . it ain't ever going to happen.  I don't live in Philadelphia, I live in Montana . . . but I know there is a bigger world out there.  It is time to embrace my fellow sojourners . . . even if it is only for a little while . . . but, NO five dollar cups of tea!