The Voice of God sometimes flows into my heart and mind in a way that’s so loud, I can feel my heart pound with every word He speaks. It’s exciting and energizing, like a dam that’s been broken, the Living Water rushes through; His Voice flows in, powerfully, unstoppable. There’s no mistaking His presence, and there’s no missing what He is trying to say.
And then there are times where His Voice is more like a song. I can feel Him singing over me. I can feel His arms wrapped around me, carrying me through this adventure called life. I can feel His smile over me, and I can sense His nearness in me, as I laugh and dance and sing and embrace the road set before me.
And when the Voice speaks in a way that is different, it takes me a while to realize He is, indeed, speaking. This time, His voice is coming in a whisper. And when the Lord whispers, He is inviting us into a new journey of listening closely. He is asking me to lean in, settle down, and quiet myself, so He can speak, just above a breath. Like children gathering at their Father’s feet to listen to their favorite bedtime story. I am His child. I long for that intimacy and His whisper promises me that it exists. Like John rested himself on Christ’s breast, I long to have such a rich, deep, connectedness to God, that there is no space between us to be filled. Any empty air is made thick with His Presence.
And this is why the Lord invites us into seasons of wilderness; where we can’t see God’s invisible hand working and we can’t understand this new Voice He uses to speak to our hearts. So we grow tired of trying; tired of waiting; and weary of figuring it out. Oh, but here is the beautiful thing: our relationship with God, this marriage between the Most Holy and the scarred, is never up to us to figure out. We are simply called to receive, rest, and do what he tells us to do. If that is to rest more, then we rest. If that is to move to the ends of the earth, then we move. If that is wait, we wait. And, when we finally rest our head on our knees, in realization that we will never figure it out, our ears perk at the sound of that Still Small Voice. And in this moment, we realize that the wilderness was never made for us to lay down in defeat; it merely is the only place in the world with enough room for us to twirl, as a little girl does in the middle of a dry field, where wildflowers live and breathe, and sing their song. This is His gentle invitation.
“Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her…” (Hosea 2:14).