God Had Silenced Me

A couple of years ago I lost my voice— three times within a year. 
The worst stretch lasted almost four weeks. 
I didn’t have a sore throat or a seemingly accompanying virus. 
I joked around in a whisper that God had silenced me and I was trying to pay attention and listen to the voices around me that mattered most. 

Maybe I wasn’t joking-
The few times I would speak, 
I worked to make what I used my energy and effort in flexing ailing vocal cords- to be deliberate communication. 

Growing up in a large family of girls-
Our house was noisy. 
Sometimes it was simple, cheerful chatter. But as the years drew on-
There was plenty of drama and tears. 
I added to it in unhelpful ways. 

My senior year of high school-
Our school offered a class called “Speech”, taught by the very popular Mr. Bergstrom. 
It filled an “English” requirement. 
The alternative was a class designed to read lots and lots of books and then write lots and lots of papers about them. 
Perhaps there was a class choice for introverts and another for the extroverts. 

I was a bit intimidated by the Speech class, but I easily chose it over the alternative. 
Throughout the semester, Mr. Bergstrom assigned topics and we were instructed to write and present our oral speeches to the class.
We all took turns.
Some classmates stuttered, turned red, and fumbled over their words. 
Others stood straight, shoulders back, and eloquently delivered their messages. 

I was in between. 

My presentation skills improved throughout the semester.
However, my least favorite class policy was when Mr. Bergstrom gave us verbal feedback in front of the entire class. 
The idea was that we could all learn from each other-
A good idea in theory-
But potentially humiliating in practice.
Here I was in a vulnerable position to stand before my class to share-
And then be verbally corrected and graded in front of my peers. 
I did not delight in this extra way to “learn” more verbal communication skills. 

Towards the end of the semester, we had been assigned our final speeches. 
I allotted more effort in this class and specifically this assignment than my typical haphazard (I’ve already been admitted to college) efforts.
We were to have our Speech memorized, speak with clarity and confidence, and stand with good posture. It was a lot…

Our final grade would encompass the critique of all of it. We were encouraged to dress our best. I hated wearing dresses—
Nevertheless, the rest of the class donned their best and I followed suit. On the day that I was scheduled to present, my mid-heeled pumps and accompanying attire added an uncomfortable awkwardness to my already strained nerves. 

My name was announced and I took the position at the front of the classroom.
“I stood amongst my teammates, at our last home volleyball game of the season.
The National Anthem blared through the staticky speakers…”
I strongly said, as I began my speech, scanning my classmates looking for a safe place for my eyes to land. 

The next few minutes were a blur. 
I finished and stood in silence waiting for Mr. Bergstrom to deliver feedback. 
He paused-
Called me by name-
“Jackie” 

I shifted my eyes upward from the scuffed-up pumps I had worn with my best dress…
“You have important words to say. Don’t be afraid to say them.”

“What on earth does that mean?!?!?!?!” were my silent racing thoughts. 
I sheepishly looked at him, said nothing, and waited, before he motioned for me to sit down.  

I desperately waited for what his feedback meant for my grade but after a few days, I was delighted to receive an “A” on my written submission. I sighed a relief, but throughout the years, I have worked to try and understand (what felt like) his cryptic message. 
I didn’t feel like I had much importance to share. I was mostly content to sit silently in all formal learning situations. 

Throughout the following years, as I sought clarity in thought and deed in my spiritual conversion process, I was often asked to teach a simple class to children or teenagers at church. 
I began to understand the power of my voice as I sought truth and then shared my convictions. 

This has proved to be of pivotal importance in understanding what it means to be a strong woman. 
I needed to first—
Do the work to identify truth. 
Who was speaking it?
Who was not?

There were times throughout the years when I would strongly disagree with another and would boldly defend truth. 
I was becoming valiant in my belief in God, and His perfect love for all of His children. 
In turn—
I was understanding the importance of a strong voice for truth.  I was learning to find my God-given voice and the strength to share what I had done the work to come to know…

This strength carried God-enhanced power to motivate and compel others to find out truth for themselves. As I improved in my teaching—
I usually felt like God gave me the words to speak as I was speaking them. The messages came from Him. I often had no recollection of the things I said. 
I did not need to be an expert on anything I taught about…

What I came to understand, was that when God blessed me with a mantle—
His most important message was delivered to me, for me, to share. 
In so doing—
I came to know and understand more deeply that God did not need me to be strong and wise in all things.

In truth- 
I was weak.
The most important truth I’ve learned about strength-
Is that-
In my mortal state-

I alone am not strong.

God, my Heavenly Father, is. 
Jesus Christ, my Savior, is. 
My strength is amplified through them to do the work they call me to do-
To be the daughter, mom and disciple they need me to be… 

-JC

Biscoff Molasses Cookies

1 cup soft butter
1 cup sugar
1 cup brown sugar
½ cup molasses
2 eggs
4 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
¾ teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons ground ginger
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon nutmeg
—
4 oz. crushed Biscoff cookies

Cream butter and sugars with an electric mixer on medium high for 1 minute or until fluffy. Mix in molasses. Hand stir in eggs; don’t overmix. Add dry ingredients all at once and mix until fully incorporated. Scoop out approximately 24+ 2” balls of dough. Gently roll each dough ball after scooping and immediately roll into crushed Biscoff cookies. (Dough balls will dry out quickly and Biscoff crumbs will not stick if you don’t immediately roll the dough and then place into crumbs. I do one cookie at a time.) Gently flatten dough balls. Place cookies on a greased or parchment paper lined aluminum cookie sheet. Bake at 375 degrees for 12+ min. Drizzle with melted Biscoff cookie butter (pre-made, jarred).
Let set. Share.