God Speaking

All she did was clear her throat as she slept in the loft above the kitchen, but the sound was as if angels were singing. Maybe I’m just a Dad who misses the sounds of his children, but because she’s my child and the sound could only belong to her, I listened with a heart filling with gratitude faster than my mug was filling with coffee.

One of the first theologians who stirred my soul was a man who awakened in the darkness of his own imperfect humanity and laid on the ground praying for God to speak. He only heard two branches hitting one another, but the CLACK CLACK was enough to stir his soul for years.

I often wonder why God keeps himself such a secret, but this morning I realized that the problem lies not with God’s silence but my listening. Too often I listen for God’s voice only in church or expect it to arrive in King James English. The fact is, God speaks all the time, in church and in the gutter, in poetic prose and broken English (and other languages), in the bright moments and dark. Whether it’s a piece of music or two branches hitting one another, a sermon or a clearing of a young girl’s throat, God speaks. 

The question is will I have the ears to hear and a heart to receive?