Can You Hear Me Now?

Listening is not a passive act.

It requires focus, attention to detail--to the dip and rise of her voice, the subtle nuances of the muscles in her face, the watery depths (or lack) of emotion in her eyes, the layers (or absence) of meaning in her words.

It requires self-control--not simply of your tongue (which, as an introvert, I'm fairly proficient at bridling), but of your mind (which, as an introvert, I'm not at all proficient at bridling).

That's probably why I talk so much to God. Because there's no fake-listening as far as He's concerned. He knows my scattered, rampant thoughts. I say, Speak, Lord, for Your servant is listening, but He knows I'm not really waiting to hear His voice. Sure, my mouth is shut, but my mind has already wandered to yesterday, or tomorrow, sliding down the steep and inevitable spiral into self-absorption.

So, in a misguided effort to avoid this trap, I talk. Talk, talk, talk. Words, words, words. On, on, and on.

Until He gently chastens me.

Guard your steps when you go to the house of God. Go near to listen rather than to offer the sacrifice of fools, who do not know that they do wrong. Do not be quick with your mouth, do not be hasty in your heart to utter anything before God. God is in heaven and you are on earth, so let your words be few. As a dream comes when there are many cares, so the speech of a fool when there are many words. Much dreaming and many words are meaningless. Therefore stand in awe of God, (Ecclesiastes 5:1-3, 7).

All too often, I am the fool, coming to God with my many words, thinking they will be a pleasing offering to Him. The words are beautiful, to be sure. But more times than I'd care to admit, they are empty.

God's words, however, are never empty. They are full of power. They release freedom and truth. They never return void. They are the words that shaped the universe and sparked the beating of our hearts.

How He longs for us to listen Him. To learn--the dip and rise of His voice, the subtle nuances of the muscles in His face, the unending depths of emotion in His eyes, the infinite layers of meaning in His words.

Day after day, the God of eternity invites us to sit at His feet, and to listen. Oh, Beloved. There is no greater privilege than this.

Dear God,

Thank You for not giving me what I want. Thank You for refusing me when I plead, and whine, and question You. Thank You for never giving in, even when my heart falls to pieces in my hands.

Because looking back, I can see. How the things I wanted would not have satisfied. How the alteration of one detail of my life might have brought me to a different place than this. (For the place You have brought me is beautiful.)

You didn't give me what I wanted, because there was something better. I didn't know it, couldn't believe it, at the time. I crawled in the dust, parched with thirst. I clung to the hem of your robe, tugging, and begged for Egypt. For the place where my human reasoning told me I would be safe, though in reality it was only bondage, in reality the Enemy would find me there.

You could have let me go. You could have given me over to the fickleness of my heart. Only, You didn't. Instead, You said No, again and again, and I thought I will die in this desert.

But You sent manna from heaven. You brought water from stone. You came as a pillar of cloud, as a column of flame. And all the things I wanted turned insubstantial as mirages, in the fierce and marvelous light of what was best.

And so I thank You, Daddy. For ways that are higher than mine. For giving me bread when I ask for a scorpion. For giving me life when I deserve death. For never letting me go.