A Whisper That Pierced The Gale

"I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer could there be?" --C.S. Lewis

Long ago, I remember pacing around my bedroom, frustrated, as I asked (demanded) God's advice about a situation in which I had found myself. I remember being slightly miffed at God's silence, as I self-righteously demanded immediate guidance. I wondered, if I was so willing to follow God's orders, why He would not tell me what those orders were. I remember at one point getting so frustrated as I paced about that I began to speak aloud, saying, "I can't hear you! I can't hear you!".

I don't really know what I was expecting from the Lord; a voice from the heavens or some sort of vision or a dove to present me with a scroll outlining my divine instructions. I didn't get any of those things, but neither did God stay silent. To be sure, I deserved silence. I was in the throes of a self-righteous tantrum, cloaked in a thin veil of sincerity.

But one of the most wonderful things about our God is that He very often does not give us what we deserve. After I began crying aloud "I can't hear you! I can't hear you!", I was given a word from the Lord. Deep inside my soul, a still small voice rang clear over my own clamor, and said three words that froze me where I stood:

"You're not listening."

Immediately, as if those words had been "peace, be still!", the roaring in my ears died away and I was left standing still in a quiet room, the words still echoing around in my soul as I turned them this way and that, searching for their meaning. I somehow understood it as the rebuke it was, and shamefully realized that God was not being silent or distant or uncaring about my predicament. He just wanted me to listen, with a humble and submissive heart, and to speak to me on His terms. It was the first time of only a handful of times that the Almighty has spoken to me in such a way, and it was an important lesson, not just for that circumstance, but for every day of my life.

And now, some ten years later, I wish I could say that I've done away with the distracting clamor of the voices that pull my attention from what really matters. I wish I could say that I no longer entertain the voices of Pride and Worry and Greed. I wish I could say I never forget to truly listen. 

I do. More often than I like to admit.

But that's one of the reasons why I love the nighttime. Because on nights like this, when the flurry of the day dies down and the daylight creatures are chased to bed by the setting of the sun, when the moon stakes its claim in the sky and the only sounds you are left with are the ticking of the clock and a gentle chorus of chirping crickets, you find that the racket inside you begins to abate as your pulse slows to match the cadence of the clock. It is during these precious glimpses in time that my soul remembers to listen, and realizes that it hasn't been listening for quite some time.

I feel a bit like Nicodemus, as under the cover of night I return to the Lord, ashamed at how long and far I've strayed. Desperate for that sweet fellowship, I look into the face of my beautiful Savior, and fold into the forgiving embrace, knowing that He's seen my wandering, my distraction, my failures, knowing that He's forgiven it and cast it as far as the east is from the west.

And we both know I'll fail again. We both know that in the near future I'll be pulled under the current of distractions and forget to call on the Name that saves and forget to listen for the still small voice in the midst of the gale. But the forgiveness granted to me in that sweet embrace isn't only for what I've already done, it's also for everything I will do. All of it is known, and all of it is forgiven. The price has been paid, the work is finished.

And the waves of my consciousness, which only hours earlier were raging like an angry sea, are now tranquil and calm under the watchful eye of Peace Himself and rock me to sleep with the help of a ticking clock and chirping crickets as I succumb to their rhythmic insistence, locked in the never-ending embrace of the calmer of every storm.


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