A Deaf Woman Heeds God’s Call to Cry Out

Her hands spoke what her voice could not.

Each movement carried the weight of a story—a story of resilience, faith, and calling.

Before an audience Cheard stood signing her testimony, her fingers moving with grace and conviction. At her side her sister, Lychel, translated every gesture into words that could be heard. The two sisters have worked together for years—one speaking with her hands, the other lending her voice—both sharing one message: God can use anyone, even in silence.

Growing Up in a World Without Sound

Born into a Seventh-day Adventist family, Cheard was surrounded by worship, prayer, and music. Her father was a pastor, her mother an educator. Their home was a place of faith—but for little Cheard, it was also a place of quiet.

“I was born deaf,” she shared through her signs. “When I was 3, my parents sent me to school. They wanted me to speak, not to sign. They believed that if I could talk, I would live a normal life.”

Her parents found a school that promised to teach deaf children to speak. But it came at a cost. “We were not allowed to use sign language,” she said. “If we tried, the teachers slapped our hands. We had to depend on our lips.”

Cheard learned to imitate sounds she could not hear. She watched the teachers’ mouths, memorized the shape of words, and trained her tongue to form sounds without ever knowing how they truly sounded. “It was hard,” she recalled. “When my teacher turned around to write on the board, I understood nothing. I would raise my hand to ask, and everyone laughed. I felt so small.”

Each laugh carved a wound. Yet even then God was preparing her heart for something greater.

“I cried often,” she signed. “But I told myself—be brave. I didn’t know it then, but the strength God gave me in those moments was for His purpose.”

When Silence Met the Word

As Cheard grew older, school continued to be difficult. She read lips and mumbled some words, but communication with hearing people was always a challenge. Even at church—a place that should have felt like home—she often sat through services without understanding anything.

“Every Sabbath I saw people listening to the sermon and singing hymns,” she said. “I was there, but I understood nothing. I begged my mother, ‘Please interpret for me.’ ”

That simple request changed both of them. Her mother began interpreting sermons and Sabbath School discussions so her daughter could finally understand the message of hope she had seen only on the lips of others.

Then one Sabbath everything changed.

One pastor, standing in the pulpit, preached from Luke 19:40: “If they keep quiet, the stones will cry out” (NIV).

The words pierced through Cheard’s silence. “It hit me,” she said, tears forming as she signed. “If hearing people stay quiet, will the rocks cry out? Then who will speak for us—the deaf? Are we not also God’s children?”

In that moment she made a decision that would shape her life’s mission.

“Lord, Please Use Me”

That night she prayed earnestly. “Lord,” she signed, “if You can make the rocks cry out, please don’t let me be silent. Use me. Even if I am deaf, I want to tell others about You.”

Her parents were unsure. “You’re a girl,” her father said. “You’re deaf,” her mother reminded her.

But her conviction didn’t fade. “I prayed for four things,” she said. “A deaf ministry, interpreters, more deaf people in church, and a leader to guide us.”

Slowly God began to answer—one prayer at a time.

When Three Became 50

In the beginning there were only three deaf members in the church. “We were few, but we were eager to worship,” she said.

One day she invited a man whose clothes were worn and torn. “He came to church, even though he looked poor,” she said. “Later he was arrested because no one could understand his sign language. His mother called us to help interpret, and we went.”

After being freed, that man never forgot what the church did for him. He brought 30 more deaf friends from another church whose interpreter had passed away. “From three we became 30. Then 50,” she said.

Her sister, Lychel, participates with her in this ministry. Lychel cooked food for the deaf who attended; taught Bible lessons; and interpreted Sabbath worship. “My sister would teach, interpret, and cook—all in one day,” Cheard said. “It was hard, but it was a joy.”

Soon people began traveling from distant towns just to attend a church service where they could understand God’s Word through sign language. “Some came from hours away,” she said. “That’s when I prayed again, ‘Lord, we need more interpreters.’ ”

God answered, and volunteers stepped forward to learn sign language. Over time more than 10 interpreters were trained to serve in various Adventist churches. The ministry spread to nearby provinces and cities—including Marikina, Laguna, Manila, Mindanao, and Bicol, Philippines—wherever there were deaf individuals longing to know Christ.

Today the movement continues to grow. “We are praying to start a deaf ministry in Palawan,” she said. “Deaf people there are watching our online Bible studies and vlogs. They message us saying, ‘Please come. We want to know about Jesus.’ We’re praying we can go.”

When Weakness Becomes a Miracle

When asked how she keeps going, Cheard smiles. “Because God uses my weakness,” she signed. “He turns it into strength.”

She finds deep meaning in the story from John 9, where Jesus healed the man born blind. “ ‘Who sinned,’ the disciples asked, ‘this man or his parents?’ . . . Jesus answered, ‘Neither . . . , but that the works of God should be revealed in him.’ ”

Her sister’s voice softened as she interpreted: “That’s me,” Cheard signed. “I am deaf not by mistake. God made me this way so His works could be shown in my life.”

For Cheard deafness isn’t a disability—it’s a testimony. Through her hands God speaks. Through her silence He is heard.

“I Don’t Want the Rocks to Cry in My Place”

Her ministry has brought hope to hundreds of deaf individuals—many of whom had never before understood what prayer meant. “Some didn’t even know who God was,” she said. “Their parents didn’t know sign language, so no one had ever taught them.”

Now they worship, study the Bible, and pray in their own language. Some have been baptized, while others have become interpreters themselves.

But for Cheard the mission isn’t over. “Jesus said the rocks will cry out if we stay silent,” she signed. “I don’t want that. I may not have a voice, but I have my hands, my heart, and my story. As long as I can stand, I will share Jesus with the deaf.”

A Message to the Church

Cheard’s story—spoken through her hands and voiced by her sister—is a reminder that mission depends, not on ability, but on availability.

Her journey teaches that gratitude grows, not from what we have, but from what we surrender. She has every reason to be bitter, yet she chooses joy. She could live quietly, yet she chooses to serve.

“Look at me,” she signed, her eyes bright. “I am deaf, but I can hear God’s call clearly. My silence is my song. My life is my sermon. And as long as there are deaf souls who haven’t met Jesus, I will go.”

In her story the rocks never had to cry—because a woman who couldn’t hear decided to listen to God instead.

The original version of this story was posted on the Southern Asia-Pacific Division news site.