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Paul couldn't stand it anymore. The constant ringing in his ears was deafening. It was as if he were standing in the ocean, the waves pounding unceasingly in his ears. He knew he was going deaf quickly.

Paul's hearing loss came rapidly. The doctors tried hearing aids. But nothing made the ringing stop. And nothing made the noise of normalcy return.

Paul became depressed and withdrawn. He couldn't understand what people were saying. Normal activities like grocery shopping and driving became a terrifying ordeal. It was easier to stay home and retreat into his world of silence.

People didn't know what to do with Paul. Some came to visit, but writing compassionate little comments got tiring for them. It was too frustrating. Others would send inspiring cards, but the words seemed empty. They couldn't touch his cold heart.

Paul turned to his art for solace. He would sketch on his sunny porch. He would draw in the living room by the picture window, watching the children play in the park across the street. He would sit in the park and think of new ideas.

In time, Paul began to feel more alive. He began to paint faces, and soon he would sit and sketch portraits for free. As soon as he would come to the park, he would have a gathering. It was his pleasure to see the surprised, happy faces of his "models." He was coming out of his shell. The people understood he was deaf. The people understood he had talent.

Paul was asked to sketch a portrait of Jesus for the church across town. The pastor had come to watch Paul. Paul had sketched the pastor's daughter in an amazing likeness the week before. Pastor Tim sat with Paul and wrote his request.

Paul was quick to shake his head no. He was adamant. But Pastor Tim was adamant too, and asked if Paul would "just come and take a look at our church." It was a new sanctuary built behind the original, ancient church and Pastor Tim wanted a fresh, modern look. He wanted a portrait of Jesus in the narthex.

Pastor Tim left Paul with the address, which Paul ignored for three weeks. But curiosity got the best of him. Paul headed across town.

Paul's world was one of silence; it helped him concentrate. Paul's world was one of a loner; it helped him notice details. Paul's world was one of introspection; his intuition was keen.

Paul sat in the church for hours on end, days at a time. He wanted to get a feeling of this Jesus. He wanted an idea for a sketch to come to him. He wanted an image to form in his mind so he could begin to sketch. He wanted something concrete.

But nothing came to him and just as he was about to give up, he heard a voice in the silence. It wasn't an audible voice. It was a quiet voice only for Paul to hear. It was the voice of one who had suffered. It was the voice of one who understood. It was the voice of one who wanted to love.

Paul practically sprinted home. He got out a huge canvas, clean and bright. And on it he painted a face. A face that was neither male nor female. A face that was neither black nor white. A face that was neither happy nor sad.

It was a lonely face. A caring face. An authoritative face. It looked pensive. It looked knowledgeable. It looked curious.

After a month of daily work, Paul was finally satisfied with it. But as he stood back, he realized he had forgotten the most important detail. Jesus' reason for coming to earth was missing. On the side of his face, on the curve of his cheekbone, Paul painted a tiny tear. A tear of happiness. A tear of sadness. A tear of understanding.

Paul was finished. He had heard the voice. Paul understood.