One of the key issues around the production I am involved in is the microphones. They have to be on, the batteries fresh, the levels set or nothing gets through. There are limits to how entertaining the cast can be, even with fabulous costumes, if you cannot hear their lines. My son was in charge of sound for his church back in high school and remarked that if the preacher didn't show up, an assistant could step in. But if he was not there, everyone might as well go home. No one else knew how to run the sound board. No matter how good the message was, it mattered little if it wasn't audible. 

There are videos of babies whose deafness has kept them isolated. Then when a hearing aid is fitted, they can hear for the first time. Their eyes grow wide. Their faces blossom into wonder at this miracle of voices. Some cry, others laugh. A girl began to babble, another turned toward her father clapping. One mother, weeping, said what was on her heart.

"I love you! I love you!"

John and I watched Tony Robbins work with a couple who had long ago lost the ability to hear one another. Their bodies were slumped, their demeanor detached. But as Tony led them past old assumptions, they began to listen. A surge of emotion arrived from nowhere, and it was as if the deafness fell away. A marriage that minutes ago seemed dead, had sprung to life. 

I sometimes imagine the moment when our earthly trappings slough off and land at our ankles. As we step into eternal life, what will it be like to truly hear one another? Will we laugh? Weep with joy? Turn toward each other? Look deeply as if everything is new?