Auditory Adventures

As I lie awake at 7 a.m. listening to a mourning dove cooing in the backyard tree, faint snoring echoing from the other side of the bed, and a smoke alarm chirping from the room outside the bedroom door, I welcome the new dawn. I wish for the bird, its voice sweet and soothing, to never stop, though I know its song will disappear as the day grows louder. Hushed snoring will eventually be replaced by humble groaning as the pleasure of a good night’s rest meets the reality of senior citizen aches.

But the smoke alarm, sounding its shrill, low-battery warning every sixty seconds, will not quit. I know, yes, I know… its piercing sound is supposed to protect me from deadly smoke inhalation, but instead, it has partnered with the thrumming furnace and the humming refrigerator. If it weren’t for the “spectacular cathedral ceiling” that realtors boast about nowadays, that five-inch disk lost in high altitude would be silent because it would be sporting a new nine-volt.

Luckily, however, I’ve become nearly immune to its high-pitched beeps. I reach for the phone resting on my nightstand, check for any missed messages since turning the lights out last night, then open my email. Nothing urgent, so I lie back against my propped pillow, gather my thoughts, and begin my morning conversation with God: Help, Thanks, Wow.

In 2012, Anne Lamott published a book and chose the above italicized words as its title. Subtitled The Three Essential Prayers, she writes about the simplicity of asking God for assistance, appreciating the good He’s allowed us to witness, and feeling awe at the world He’s created. I grew up learning traditional forms of prayer—adoration, contrition, thanksgiving, supplication— but I’m a simple person who latched onto an even simpler prayer prompt and adopted it as a mantra I can repeat all day.

This morning, I ask for world peace and the health of my unborn grandchild; I give thanks for the roof over my head and the absence of yesterday’s headache; I marvel at the brilliant sun and the guy beside me who’s put up with me far too many years. Silently, I speak nonstop, and God listens. Lastly, I ask Him to speak louder because I can’t hear Him, Amen.

Eventually, I shuffle to the shower to turn on the spray that will warm up as I empty my bladder on the chilly toilet seat. I welcome the flowing streams that relieve, then soothe. Like God, they flow gracefully and mercifully, revealing the intimate and ultimate symbols of His love.

In the kitchen, I turn on the electric kettle, then settle on the couch with my facial massager. These modern luxuries were gifts from two of my children, and as they churn and vibrate, I feel more gratitude. They are low-volume reminders that I am loved.

Irish breakfast tea brews in a mug from another child and keeps warm on the warmer (another modern luxury) from child number five. As I bask in morning glory, my phone dings, and I open it to a photo of the current youngest grandchild sent from the oldest of my six. Shortly after, another soft ding alerts me that her youngest sibling has replied to something I sent him yesterday afternoon.

Sipping tea, turning pages, joining puzzle pieces, and typing letters that form these words— they’re all quiet parts of my life nowadays. Gone are the noises of my younger years: a blaring alarm clock, news and weather announcements booming on the radio, clamoring conversations among children readying for school, and vehicles battling their way through rush hour. I’ve passed the torch to the next generation, so now, I can gently pass my time.

Yet, help, thanks, wow! It’s barely noon, and already my auditory system has been packed full of desires, blessings, and joys beyond what I deserve. Please, I beg Amazing God, keep the flow of goodness coming.

“God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.” — Anne Sexton, “For Eleanor Boylan Talking with God”

Wishing all of you the sweet sounds of February,

Annmarie