That still, small voice beckons – even now as I stomp around in my own directions and my own determinations making so much racket that I hear nothing but myself. That still small voice continues – despite the noise I create; despite my disregard; despite the direction I demand.
Seven years ago, a friend of mine called to share something from her personal quiet time about me. She took time out of her chaotic schedule – that included five boys, home schooling and work – to share something she felt God was telling her about my walk.
I heard her words. I cried over her words. I wrote down the words that she shared. I wrote about how I felt about the whole experience. I plotted and planned my next move from her revelation. Tomorrow would mark the beginning.
Life showed up and brought with it all sorts of trials and tests. My enthusiasm of that moment began to wear thin. The day to day requirements of my own family and commitments soon caused the hope of that moment to diminish – just a little here and ta little there – until I was left sitting in the same spot I had been when that call came in (only now it felt darker than before).
Seven years . . .
I had heard my friend that day, but I was not listening. I stomped forward, crushing everything (even my own hope) beneath the wait of my heavy demands. I pushed forward with a deafening determination that was blind to the direction provided by that quiet refrain.
This morning the breeze danced on the leaves that shimmered with the first light of morning. I watched the dance and cried out from my heart for help and direction. “I know You are here and I need to see it – if only for a moment.”
I unfolded some papers and began to read. The second page held those words my friend had shared. It took me seven years to become desperate enough to stop and let my heart seek the answer, but today I am listening.