This time of year, I am asked the question, “What are you thankful for?” quite often.

One of my friends sends me a written copy of his Sunday sermon on Saturday evening so that I might read it beforehand and be able to follow along as it is delivered live.  This week during his Thanksgiving sermon, he urges each person to write one thing that they are thankful for on a card and drop it in the offering basket.  And so, here I sit twelve hours in advance, contemplating which blessing that I might write on my card for Thanksgiving Sunday.

“What are you thankful for?”

Honestly, it doesn’t seem fair to limit the gratitude to one topic, but this isn’t my rodeo so I will work on narrowing it down to a concise answer.

Recently I ran into my friend Bernice from church.  Bernice asked how I was doing.  I replied that I was well and smiled when I said that “all is quiet at my house.”
(I do love a deaf joke…)  I was a little surprised when Bernice squinted at me with a furrowed brow and more or less sneered as she said, “but you have Cochlear implants, so you can hear.” 

Thank you, Bernice for clearing that up for me.

Technically, Bernice’s statement is correct.  Being a late-deafened adult, I quickly accepted the opportunity to have Cochlear implant surgery.  Having had a successful implant surgery, I can certainly hear some sounds, but speech comprehension and ‘hearing’ are two different things.  

To understand your spoken word, I typically need to see your face in an adequately lit environment as you speak so that the sounds I hear, combined with the lips I read, form a reasonable combination.  Believe me when I say that I am thankful for those moments when I am able to form this combination in a public setting.

Even with good lighting and a speaker who faces me when they speak, I am only likely to pick up on seventy-five percent of our conversation.   Add in masks, a speaker who looks away when they speak, ambient noise, or dimly lit circumstances and my understanding of your spoken word falls quickly back into the profoundly deaf category.

So, I am thankful that I have understanding friends who work tirelessly to speak clearly and slowly to me.  Who patiently repeat themselves when necessary.  Who have learned the ASL alphabet so that they can fingerspell when all else fails.

I am thankful to have a loving family who watches out for me 24/7.  Who go out of their way to be sure that I am included in family events, who order for me in restaurants, and who translate for me at doctors’ appointments.

But today, I think that the word I will write on my card is Vision.  Today I am thankful for the gift of sight.  I am grateful for the opportunity to see my friends, to be able to watch their facial expressions, and to read their lips.  I am grateful for the opportunity to communicate with them in any manner possible.

I am grateful for the opportunity to see each of my family members this Thanksgiving.   Thankful to be able to see how Teddy has grown since our last visit.  Thankful for the ability to see the love shared by each of these family members across multiple generations.

And yes…today I am thankful to be able to read Bernice’s lips as she reminds me that I can ‘hear’.

This Thanksgiving may God grant Bernice and each of you, the happiness that I have found in my many blessings.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Your friend,

KBM
Kevin Medlin
kevin@mysilentpew.com

Thirty-six years ago, my two college roommates, a business associate, and I decided to take the Friday preceding my birthday off work and play thirty-six holes of golf.

We enjoyed the respite from work, the opportunity to have a full day of talking during a friend’s backswing, and the general fellowship of hanging out with friends for an entire Friday.

One week later, at an event that I did not attend, my old roommates mentioned to several of our high school classmates that we had taken the day off to play golf.  The classmates mentioned that they wanted to play the next year on my birthday.  Word got back to me, and I realized that the Kevin Medlin Invitational Golf Tournament (KMIGT) had been created.  So, for the next twenty-four years, on the Friday nearest my birthday we would take the day off and play golf.  Soon a post-golf dinner outing was added with wives and significant others.

As time went on, we eventually changed my August birthday to the first week of October so that the one doctor in our group would not feel responsible for giving potential heat stroke victims mouth to mouth resuscitation from attempting to play golf in the August heat.  We shortened the format to eighteen holes to limit the potential income for area orthopedic surgeons.  And we expanded the dinner format to include a wider group of friends (golfers and non-golfers). 

Eleven years ago, just after the twenty-fifth edition of the KMIGT, an autoimmune disorder took a good portion of my balance away.  I could no longer play golf
(many might say that my ‘ability’ was always in question).  Although I can no longer participate, we have continued to celebrate with the KMIGT each year in October.  Then four years ago, the autoimmune disorder completed its course and claimed my ability to hear.  I was now a late deafened adult.

One positive facet of being a late deafened adult is that while I do not hear music, I can remember many tunes and can replay them on my mental jukebox.   One negative facet of being late deafened is that without much auditory input, very often a tune will play semi-nonstop on my jukebox until something pushes it aside. 

When you don’t hear music, it is often difficult to get a tune out of your mind.  For instance, for about the past six months, I have been on a Waltz Across Texas with you in my arms and Ernest Tubb in my head.

And to answer your question, I’m not sure quite why… 

But recently, I attended a funeral service honoring a friend’s mother.  I arrived just before the service started and sat toward the back of the sanctuary.  I was far enough back that I was not able to read the priest’s lips, but I was more or less keeping up with the service by reading the bulletin and following the order of service.  Toward the end of the service, I read that the next hymn was How Great Thou Art.  I smiled thinking of that tune that was sung by my cousins, Tommy, Danny, and Susan at my great grandmother’s funeral.  I was still smiling when the music started and although I could not hear the music, I could feel the vibrations and it took me back to a simpler time…

Oh Lord, my God, when I in awesome wonder…

Ernest was out… Elvis was in. 

A few days later, I was visiting with my daughter, Katie, and her cousin, Tina.  I guess my mind wandered because Tina playfully slapped my arm, smiled at me, and sang…’What joy shall fill my heart?’

Apparently the King had been playing on my mental jukebox and I must have been singing along.  We laughed about that, but that line that she sang really stuck with me. 

 ’What joy shall fill my heart?’

Today, ten of my friends ignored the overcast skies, the wet conditions, and happily followed the cart path only regulations so that they might play in the 36^th edition of the KMIGT.  Later, approximately thirty of us gathered at Shaw’s Patio Bar & Grill for a post golf meal.  I looked around the patio at my friends, many of them friends for fifty years or more, and thought of how blessed I am to have such loyal supporters.  When they signed the song ‘Happy Birthday” for me, I knew the answer to that question.

’What joy shall fill my heart?’

I thank God for these friends who have stood by me and for my loving family who watches out for me 24/7.  I am blessed to have friends that support me and a family that loves me. 

Thank you.  And I thank God for each one of you.  I am blessed!

Thanks for listening!

Your friend,

KBM

Kevin Medlin
kevin@mysilentpew.com

Elizabeth and Katherine. My kids both have nine letter first names.  After naming Elizabeth, my wife considered this to be a relatively large factor in choosing baby names (not that nine letters is magical, but rather continuity if both had nine letters).  I simply liked the names…

But if we had been blessed with another girl, I am convinced that we would have named her Grace.  Toss out the continuity, Grace was the odds on favorite if the third was a girl.  Alas, God did not grant us Grace…

Today, I attended the Simple Service at church.  It is a short, come-as-you are service held in the chapel.  The chapel is small and lends itself well to the deaf and hard of hearing by allowing me to sit close enough to read the minister’s lips. 

Today’s scripture from Ephesians included these words:  Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear.

Grace to those who hear…  Being the cynical deaf guy that I am, I underlined these words on my bulletin and put it aside to share with the minister after the service. When I presented the underlined passage, he laughed and said that Paul was notorious for being non-inclusive so try not to take it as a personal rebuke against the deaf. Well, good enough, I suppose…

After returning home, I watched the 11:00 regular church service on YouTube.  YouTube provides captions so I am able to follow along with the sermon.  The scripture was the same, and I found myself reading those words again…grace to those who hear.  The sermon was well delivered, provided an uplifting message, but left me wondering about that scripture that was echoing in my head.  Is there truly an opportunity for grace for those with a placard hanging from their rearview mirror? 

Later in the day, I read the words from a friend who always sends a written copy of his Sunday sermons delivered at a church in another city.  He opened with a litany that included these words:

We search for meaning amid the chaos that surrounds us.   Yet God is always near, providing grace, guidance and encouragement.

There it was again…but this time the hearing was not a requisite and it prompted me to reflect on Grace. 

Perhaps God isn’t sending me signs, perhaps God is signing to me… 

This morning at the Simple Service when I lost the flow of the sermon, my daughter touched my arm to get my attention, and signed what the minister was saying to clarify the story being told.

And last week during a weekend birthday celebration, although signing is not our typical mode of communication, my family members patiently finger spelled messages to me.

Then there is this…

My grandson Teddy is almost two.  Lip reading with a two-year old is a challenge.  During our celebration weekend, I had the opportunity to lip read as he smiled and said the word Papa when he saw me for the first time one day.   And on the last day of the trip, I got down on my knees to be close to his height.  I signed I love you to Teddy and he signed love you back to me.  Melt my heart…

So, maybe God did grant Grace after all…even if it wasn’t to those who hear. 

Wishing for each of you, God’s grace upon you and yours.

Thanks for listening!

Your friend,

KBM

Kevin Medlin
kevin@mysilentpew.com

My wife shakes her head so much when I tell stories that I often wonder if she was actually in attendance with me when these stories took place.   Perhaps it’s perspective, perhaps it’s my faulty memory, or perhaps it’s a little of both.   I do know for a fact that the older I get, the more set-in-stone my memories become.

I have always enjoyed Merle Haggard’s hit song My Favorite Memory in which he describes meeting his wife.  The first lines of the song are:

The first time we met

Is a favorite memory of mine,

They say time changes all it pertains to…

But your memory is stronger than time.

Seeing those words, reminded me of a story about a story. I was once asked to give an introduction for Pam when she was being inducted as a lifetime member of the PTA. The room was crowded with her committee members, friends, and family. As part of the introduction, I included my thorough recollection of how we first met. The description was very detailed; the exact location in our high school building, how my best friend introduced us, and significantly to me…the sparkle in her eyes. I was relatively proud of my story-telling skills, but as I was delivering my remarks, I glanced up to see her shaking her head as I described that first encounter.

The introduction was a success.  The lifetime award was gratefully received.  Then, in the ultimate test of my maturity, I held off asking about the issue of our introduction until the following day.  “The encounter you described may well have happened,” Pam said, “but I can assure you that it certainly wasn’t the first time we met.”

I inquired about my error.  Her description was relatively bland, involved precious few details, and sadly, was completely sparkle-free.  Further, my recollection described an event forty-six years ago and hers indicated an encounter more like forty-eight years ago.   Ultimately, I guess it really does not matter too much, because after forty something years it is still a favorite memory of mine.

After all these years have passed, I am no longer able to hear My Favorite Memory, but I can fire up my mental jukebox and replay the second stanza of Merle’s classic:

I guess, everything does change

Except what you choose to recall,

There’s a million good daydreams to dream on

But lady, you are my favorite memory of all.

So, shake your head if you must, but today, I am choosing to recall the sparkles…

Happy 39th Anniversary!  I love you,

KBM

Thanks for listening!

Your friend,

Kevin Medlin
kevin@myslientpew.com

I was never very musical growing up, couldn’t get the beat, more likely to carry a piano than carry a tune, not much of a dancer, but after I became deaf, I realized that one of the things that I missed the most was music.

Last week, I read an article on the internet about some famous singers.  One of the entertainers listed was Dionne Warwick.  Gosh, that name was so familiar, but the music to accompany that name was lost somewhere in my last 50 years of clean living… 

Google reminded me that Dionne and Friends recorded “That’s What Friends are For” in 1985 as a fundraiser for the AIDS crisis.  I spun the vinyl on my mental jukebox and did relatively well on the chorus but found myself humming through the body of the song.  So back to Google but this time I included the word ‘lyrics’…

Keep smiling, keep shining

Knowing you can count on me, for sure

That’s what friends are for

Not having a lot of audio-sensory stimulation, let’s just say that the lyrics to
“That’s What Friends are For” played semi-non-stop beginning that moment for the next couple of days on my mental jukebox.

And then, I received this message from Kathy: Please join us for a going away party as we prepare to make a move to Odessa, TX…

Don’t get me wrong. I knew this was coming. But those of you old enough to remember when Dionne and Friends recorded that song can likely relate to that sinking feeling we get when we know that a page is turning.

Looking back over 47 years of friendship, I remembered a pretty girl with a smile that shined so bright that it lit up the classrooms at Paschal, remembered a young woman at those first reunions that selflessly researched lost classmates so that we could include everyone; remembered a Mom that took time away from her family to help organize a twenty and a twenty-five-year reunion; and remembered a loving Grandmother who found time to volunteer at the thirty- and forty-year reunion.

My heart is full of memories of reunions but more accurately, reunion committee meetings.  When I returned to my first meeting after becoming deaf, I was welcomed back by the group, but it was Kathy who made a place at the table next to her; it was Kathy who turned to face me completely and spoke s-l-o-w-l-y to be sure that I could read her lips, and it was the love of God shining through the face of my high school classmate that made me feel welcome again. 

Looking back, Kathy never shied away from a committee, never hid from an assignment, unfailingly reminded all of us that each person was worthy of our attention, and reflected God’s love in every way.

Education did not stop when I walked out the doors of Paschal High School.  I am blessed to have a friend like Kathy Gilmore Davis, who has taught me more since graduation than I ever learned in the classroom. And that is why after five years of silence, I can’t get Dionne off my mental jukebox…

Oh and then for the times when we’re apart

Well, then close your eyes and know

The words are coming from my heart

And then if you can remember

Keep smiling, keep shining

Knowing you can count on me, for sure

That’s what friends are for

For good times and bad times

I’ll be on your side forever more

That’s what friends are for

Here’s to my friend Kathy Davis, who can pull up stakes and move to Odessa, but she can’t hide from my love, because, through good times, and bad times, I’ll be on your side forever more, because that’s what friends are for…

I love you, Kathy!

Thanks for listening!

Your friend,
KBM

Kevin Medlin
kevin@mysilentpew.com

I am not big on birthdays in general.  I appreciate the thought and crave the attention, but the reality is that I probably prefer the cake to the presents and cake is not my favorite. Oh, some birthdays are more memorable than others.  My tenth birthday was spent on the beach in Galveston, TX and what ten-year-old doesn’t love the beach?  My twelfth birthday was celebrated with the newly formed Texas Rangers at the old Turnpike Stadium.  Dizzy Dean threw out the first pitch… 

But enough of that ancient history. Last Sunday was Pentecost Sunday.  My internet search of ‘Pentecost Sunday’ reveals that this is the day that marks the beginning of the Christian Church’s mission to the world, aka…the Christian Church’s birthday.  Let me readily admit that for most of my life, I have not spent too much time considering the church’s birthday.  Likely the lack of wrapping paper and definitely the lack of cake contributed to my disinterest.  But this year…

This year we explored Pentecost Sunday a few weeks early in our weekly church service.  We shared scripture from Acts 2: 1-8. 

My understanding is that the Apostles were gathered in one room together when a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house.  What they saw appeared to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them.  Each was filled with the Holy Spirit and was then able to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them.

Wow!  That’s no trip to the beach…

The story moves on with a crowd gathering outside of the house when they heard the sounds of the winds from heaven.  And although the members of this crowd were diverse, speaking many different languages, each one was able to hear the Apostles speaking in their own native language!

Our minister wove a wonderful tale for our congregation using examples of instances when each of us might have been in a situation where we were not able to communicate in our native language.  He then asked us to consider how amazing it might feel to suddenly be able to hear in that same situation in our native language.

I smiled at that thought…forget speaking in tongues, maybe the Holy Spirit would allow the Apostles to speak in fingers!

Never one to miss an opportunity, I shared my fingers story with a few friends during the next couple of weeks to much acclaim.  Did I mention that I craved the attention?

Last Saturday evening I received an email from a friend who always sends a written copy of his sermons for me to use when streaming his service.  This was his message to me: 

“I am aware that my sermon is about “hearing” the gospel in our own language, and I talk some about God “speaking” directly to our hearts.  You may want to watch and read.”

And so, on Pentecost Sunday I pulled up the text from my friend’s sermon.  I found the link and streamed his service.  For most of the service I was able to follow along by reading the text and reading his lips.  The scripture and story were familiar.  The Apostles were gathered in one room…

But when he delivered these final words:

“As we listen, we are drawn to their holy fire, because they are speaking directly to our hearts. “

He signed the words and indeed, they spoke directly to my heart…

in fingers.

Thank you for thinking of me and thank you for a birthday gift that I shall never forget.

Thanks for listening!

Your friend,

KBM
Kevin Medlin
kevin@mysilentpew.com

Sunday, 4:30 a.m. 

A flashing light captures my attention from behind closed eyelids.  Rain is predicted so it could be lightning.  A quick survey reveals that it is the emergency alert indicator on my cell phone.  I check the screen to see an ASL interpreter signing:

“The National Weather Service has issued a Flash Flood Warning in your area between 4:30 a.m. Sunday and 2:00 p.m. Monday. “

The forecast was for rain every day this week, so I guess this is not too surprising.  Just the same, I think I will let this warning be a concern sometime after sunrise.

Sunday, 7:15 a.m.

No rain yet.  Tomorrow is Katie’s birthday.  Katie is my youngest daughter.  To celebrate, Katie is taking a trip to the Hill Country of Texas on her birthday. So today, after attending a 9:30 a.m. service at church, I will drive to Azle to attend the 11:00 a.m. service at Katie’s church.   I will take some cupcakes to share after the service because even if she is now a part-time minister and is leading a portion of the service, your little girl is still your little girl…

Attending church in Azle has been a little chaotic recently.  First, there was the pandemic and on-line services.  Then for a brief period, they met outdoors in the courtyard.  At about the time that they were ready to ease restrictions and move back indoors, Texas was hit with a rare freeze that dropped temperatures to below freezing for almost a week and was highlighted by zero-degree lows.  The unexpected lows and the failure of the Texas power grid combined to freeze and burst water pipes in the main church building.   The resulting water damage extended the stay in the courtyard. 

Sunday, 10:00 a.m.

I am leaving my church service and the rain has started. I send Katie a text and ask about plans for the service in Azle. “We are opening the Heritage Chapel this morning to stay out of the weather, ’’ she says. The chapel is the original church building built in the 1890’s. It is arguably the oldest church building in Azle.

Sunday 10:45 a.m.

After a soggy drive to Azle, I arrive and head toward the chapel.  As I make my way across the parking lot, I am overwhelmed by the simple beauty of the original Azle Christian Church, plankboard siding, fifteen-pane windows, an open door to welcome all…

I’m headed toward the door humming ‘Amazing Grace’ and I am assuming that everyone that enters the building must be doing the same as this scene is postcard-type ‘grace.’

Inside is a reflection of days gone by. Beautiful oak floors, sixteen-foot ceilings, an attendance board listing the number of attendees at last weeks’ service, the number of visitors, and the number in Sunday School.  I haven’t seen a church tote board in thirty-five years. 

In the back corner stands a dusty walnut-colored pump organ.  How many wheezy renditions of ‘Amazing Grace’ must have been lovingly offered back in the day by an organist who didn’t need to visit a fitness class after Sunday services? 

Modern enhancements have added ceiling fans to the space, but a shelf near the door holds cardboard hand fans of the type being waved in the verdict scene of
‘To Kill a Mockingbird’.

Sunday, 10:59 a.m.

The sun peeks out from behind the clouds and tiny rainbows reflect from the raindrops still perched on the leaves outside the windows of Heritage Chapel.

Sunday, 11:00 a.m.

Piano music fills the Heritage Chapel and soon Nicole is singing a beautiful opening hymn for the assembly.  Katie provides the children’s moment and Ashley offers a moving Eastertide message. The serenity of this place and the timeless beauty of the message flows over me.  I am reminded that I received a flood warning this morning and it occurs to me that the flood I am feeling is a flood of emotions.   For 127 years, generations of proud parents have been seated on these pews surrounded by simple, yet elegant architecture, beautiful music, and enjoyed the message that their daughters and sons have offered from this pulpit.  By my count, more than sixty-five hundred Sundays of amazing grace…

When we’ve been there ten thousand years

Bright shining as the sun

We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise

Than when we’ve first begun!

Sunday, 11:50 a.m.

It’s time for cupcakes.  Happy Birthday, Katie.  I am proud of you!

Thanks for listening!

Your friend,

KBM
kevin@mysilentpew.com

My brother-in-law, Lee, emailed me a link to an Alan Jackson music video last night.  Usually, I don’t spend much time on that type of thing, but Lee doesn’t send me many emails and the tag line of this one said ‘5 Stars’. 

The song title, The Older I Get, wasn’t familiar. I double checked the playlist on my mental jukebox and still no luck.  Fortunately, this one was captioned. I read through the lyrics and immediately wished that I had been familiar with the tune.  I looked up the release date for this song and realized that it was released after I became deaf.  Oh well, back to the lyrics…

The older I get
The longer I pray
I don’t know why, I guess that I
Got more to say

Well, ain’t that the truth?

I had a particularly bad week last week.  No negative diagnosis or anything significant, just a rough week that I suspect all of us have from time to time when things just do not go your way.  Too many negative thoughts…

But I woke a little early this morning and found the email from Lee.  With the lyrics to the tuneless Alan Jackson song stuck in my memory, I showered, dressed, and headed off to church.  On the way, I passed a neighbor’s house where a couple of twin toddlers live.  From time to time, I will see the two boys out in the yard taking some unsure steps.  This morning, I discovered that the boys have an older sister.  Both boys were in side-by-side swings and their sister (maybe six years old) was alternately pushing one and then stepping to the side and pushing the other.  Both boys were in swing elation and the big sister appeared to be having more fun than the twins.  So, with a smile on my heart, I headed to church as some of that negativity slipped away.

I arrived early, claimed my spot on my silent pew and let the sunshine filtering through the stained-glass windows of the chapel color my world.  The sermon was delivered with warmth and humor.  I took a moment to watch the faces of my friends that have only recently returned to the chapel on Sunday mornings.  Faces filled with happiness and laughter surrounded me.  And some of that sadness from last week was lost in their laughter.

Life of course, keeps coming at you.  After church, I headed home for lunch.  Soon after arriving home, the power went out.  We reported the outage and received a notice that power would likely be restored in an hour or so.  Within a few minutes, the outage estimate was extended to two and a half hours.  Followed soon after by yet another update extending the outage to approximately eleven hours.  I gave up on lunch and grumpily headed out to a jobsite to check on progress on an ongoing job.

On the way, I passed a house with yard signs that indicated that Collin was having a sixth birthday.  A giant jump house was in temporary residence in the front yard.  From all visible signs, Collin and his friends were not at all upset about the power outage.  Sheer joy was reported on the faces of Collin and his friends.  And a little more of last weeks troubles faded with each of Collin’s bounces.

The job seemed to be going well.  I did a little work to prepare for the coming week, straightened the disheveled, cleaned up a few issues, and pleased with the progress, I headed to my truck to meet my wife, sister-in law, and brother-in-law, Lee for dinner.  Have I mentioned that life just keeps coming at you?  Dead battery…

I called Lee but he was already across town at the restaurant.  So, I called my friend Mark who lives close.  He was not at home but was understanding of the situation.  “Give me just a few”, he said, “I’ll round up some jumper cables and head your way.”  And thankfully, within just a few minutes, my truck was jump started, Mark was off to finish his errands, and I made it to dinner in time to tell Lee how much I enjoyed reading the lyrics to The Older I Get.  And thankful thoughts of friends that will interrupt their busy day to help a deaf guy in need pushed last week’s issues out of sight.

Tonight, the problems of the last week just don’t seem as troublesome as they did then.  After all, I can enjoy;

watching a big sister push twin toddlers longer than they could swing,

the laughter and happy smiles of my friends at church warming my heart,

the joyous calls of six-year-old Collin and his friends flowing through the neighborhood,

and the knowledge that I have a friend that I can depend on in times of need to come to my rescue (even when it interrupts his schedule).

Thankful is the word that comes to mind and leads us on to that last line from Alan Jackson’s The Older I Get…

And the older I get
The more thankful I feel
For the life I’ve had,
And all the life I’m living still.

Thanks for listening!

Your friend,
KBM
kevin@mysilentpew.com

American Sign Language. I am still learning. I like signs that somewhat reflect the word. The sign for milk for instance, mimics milking a cow. Easy to remember, right?

However, many ASL signs are similar, and some signs might be the same but have different meanings based on context.  For instance, the sign for ‘handsome’ and the sign for ‘Hawaii’ are the same.  Clearly the name of our fiftieth state is not handsome, so signed in the context of states, vacations, or islands, the sign would translate as Hawaii.  The same sign if signed in context with this author…

Recently, one of my friends suggested in a sermon that each of us might try an experiment.  When someone asks us how we are doing, the answer for the coming week would be “Fabulous”.  Without repeating the entire sermon, the long version of the same answer was:

“I am fabulous, because of the love of God poured into my heart.”  

Upon seeing the sermon, I searched the internet for a video of someone signing ‘fabulous’ and sent him a couple of options.  Of the two variations, the way he preferred ‘fabulous’ is by showing both palms to the reader with your hands six inches or so apart at chest level and then repeating the gesture slightly lower.  He responded and promised to add the ASL sign to his ‘fabulous’ responses that week. 

A few days after delivering that sermon, my friend and I were having lunch.  I asked how he was doing.  ‘’Fabulous’’ he replied and demonstrated his newly acquired ASL sign.  Then he smiled and said, ‘’When I answered in this manner to your daughter Katie yesterday, she told me that this is also the sign for Sunday. ‘’

I laughed and offered the context explanation for the duplication and then added that I wasn’t sure what the signs would be if you were having a fabulous Sunday.  I’ll have to look into that…

Today, I ran into Dan who I had met earlier in the week. When he asked how I was doing, I completely forgot the sermon response and fell into my typical response of ‘’Handsome, thank you for asking.’’ (That one always gets a laugh.) I was signing as I said the words aloud.

Dan was intrigued and asked about the signs. I showed him the sign for handsome again and mentioned that it was also the sign for Hawaii. We talked for a few minutes about ASL and somewhere in the conversation he asked about the sign for ‘dead’. I showed him the sign and then I told him a story that I had heard about some doctors that had created their own sign for ‘dead’ after watching the horse scene in the movie Animal House. (I’m thinking that there was likely some
non-rubbing type alcohol involved in that discussion.)

He laughed at my story and told me that when he was a young man he had once temporarily gotten involved with a gang.  The gang he told me had their own hand sign for dead.   ‘’That,’’ I said, ‘’ is a great excuse to get out of a gang.  But just the same, please show me the sign.’’

Dan raised both palms, chest high, about six inches apart…

Fabulous, I thought and then asked, ‘’Why did that indicate dead?’’ He smiled, wiggled his fingers and said ‘’ten toes up.’’

Now that is easy to remember!

To all those who have chosen to share this time with me today please know that I wish you a fabulous week ahead because of the love that God has poured into your heart.

Thanks for listening!

Your friend,

KBM

Kevin Medlin
kevin@mysilentpew.com

You don’t know me.  We crossed paths earlier today.  As I think back on our brief encounter, I suspect that I likely talked right over your attempt to introduce yourself and I am sorry for that.  I unintentionally do that sort of thing much more often now that I am deaf.  I voided a basic deaf-person rule by not focusing on your face and expressions as you spoke.  (Note to self…be more respectful of those that are nice enough to engage you in conversation.)

But back to our encounter. My daughter asked for an unusual gift for her birthday, a concrete dog statue to use as a decoration in her backyard.   I have been looking in various places around town and around North Texas as I travel for work but so far, no luck.  This morning I received an email advertising the final day of an estate sale.  On a whim, I pulled up the pictures from the estate sale and there in picture number three was the exact item that my daughter had requested.  I jumped in my truck headed toward the sale.

On the way there, I thought about the possibility that the statue would still be available, the fact that all estate sales have a sign saying that you must load all purchases yourself, and the assumption that this particular statue likely weighed 150-200 pounds.  What would I do if it was still available?

I decided to worry about the ‘how’ after I had determined the ‘if’ answer.  Upon arrival, I found a large number of people at the sale.  Most were scouring the home for bargains, some were measuring furniture for suitability, and some like me were on a mission.  My dog statue was marked sold.  Likely a good thing because my statue weight estimate was probably low.  While there, I stopped and looked at a chest of drawers about the time that a young couple informed a worker that they would like to purchase that item.  Oh well…

I smiled at the couple as they made their way through the home, the young lady pointing out bargains to the young man.  The phrase, been there, done that crossed my mind.  Several rooms later, I was finished and headed for the door.  The checkout line was long and made for a crowded exit.  As I waited to maneuver through the throng, I noticed the young couple carrying a small dining table toward the door.  The seas parted and they somehow negotiated the crowd and the narrow doorway with their purchase.

As I descended the stairs to head toward ,my truck, I noticed the couple unsuccessfully attempting to load the table into a hatchback.  He was considering options (his face may have indicated a chainsaw) and she looked disappointed.  I mentioned this earlier… been there, done that.  My question: “Do you live close?”  A brightening young lady replied, “Yes, it’s only about 10 minutes.”

“Ok,” I said, “you can load the table in the back of my truck and I will drive it there for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I replied, “I haven’t done anything nice for anyone yet today.  You can be the first.”  I helped the man load his purchase in my truck.  He asked for my number so he could text me the delivery address.  That being done, I indicated that I would take the address in case I got lost but would follow the hatchback to their home. 

I hopped in the truck and looked in the rearview mirror to watch for the red hatchback to lead the way.  A couple of minutes later, I realized that the couple was now attempting to load a chest of drawers into the hatchback.  One text later, we loaded the chest of drawers into the back of my truck also.  Soon I was following on the ten-minute drive toward their home. 

I smiled to myself.  I thought back to many times that I have been summoned to a location to strongarm a paralyzed bargain into a vehicle that was not designed to transport said bargain.  Oh, those days when you would do anything to please that certain young woman…

As I followed , I noticed that the license plate was from the Dayton area in Ohio.  My mind raced into assumption mode.  A young couple buying basic home furnishings, temporarily ignoring the size availability of the vehicle, while driving a car with out-of-state plates.  

Soon I was backing into the indicated driveway.  A man not quite my age, but old enough to have similar experiences with me emerged from the garage.  He helped us offload the furniture and retreated into the garage. 

The young lady eased up next to the young man and passed something into his hand.  He stepped forward and said, “Here you go, this is for your time and trouble.” He extended his hand which clearly held some type of cash.

“Oh, no,” I said, “we’ve covered that.  This was my opportunity to do something nice for someone today.”

“Well, we would like to be able to show our thanks.”

“OK,” I replied, “look me up on mysilentpew.com and read my stories.  That will be a great repayment for me.” 

So to that young couple, if you pulled up my website, then you now know that you aren’t by any means the first to find bargains that can not be easily transported, that you are not the first man to feel disappointment in attempting to please a certain young woman despite your best efforts, and you now know that our happenstance encounter made the day of a deaf guy that had a chance to help a nice young couple. 

Thanks for bringing back some wonderful memories because as I have mentioned…done that!  And one more thing…Welcome to Texas!

Thanks for listening!

Your friend,

KBM

Kevin Medlin
mysilentpew.com