Give Me Grace : Grounding – He Speaks : On Paying Attention {Day 8}

photo : flickr cc / Kris

For God speaks once, yes twice, yet man perceives it not. Job 33:14

 God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” – C.S. Lewis

Images swirl through my mind. I want answers from God but my usual pressing in feels dry. The closer I get the less I hear. I don’t hear words. And I’m not sure if I want to see what’s staring me in the face. Life, in my right now world,  is like my favorite roller coaster. It’s thrilling and lovely… and scary.  I want to raise my arms and scream – allow myself the beautiful abandon of  a person of faith but reconsider and play it safe. I’ll stay strapped in and ready myself for a white knuckle ride. This is a season or waiting…of holding on.

As much as I believe there’s a message in all things, right now, I’m struggling to hear him. His words are tangled in a melody that keeps me connected to Him and each day I waken to the same lilting tune. It’s mournful and soft and I know it’s birthed from the cup of tears he’s collected these past few months. He speaks. But I’m not paying attention.

And then something like this will happen….he’ll tell me a story.

I pushed past her to make the connection from the express train. She stood in the door way, immovable. Her back to me, I hopped in the car doing the NYC subway shove. Everyone knows it and its allowed, but I didn’t feel good about it. Especially when I turned around and saw her.

I recognized the familiar golden lion logo of her gently used Anne Klein bag. Resting between the crook of her arm and her wrist the bag hung stiff and uncomfortable – like it wanted to stay away from the dry stub that used to be her right hand.  I wanted to hear her story. She wore thrift store designer duds –  fashion from years past. Gucci, before Tom Ford and classic vintage Ann Taylor worn with old school Nikes – black of course. She’d pushed her short Afro under a trendy cap and gracefully held her neck high. She looked tired – her face lined with memories, stories of things she may never tell. She’s the new face of homelessness I see in the city. I wanted to hear her story – starting with the two over-sized garbage bags at her feet – everything she probably cared for, and the hand – I wanted to hear about that too. I thought it ironic she stood under a sign advertising a new health insurance plan – “Who Will Care For You?”

No words were exchanged. She shared her story in a moment of eye contact. Our eyes met and I listened. The quiet between us, a powerful word.

Watching her, really seeing her – helped me hear God. He does that. Let’s me experience His presence through a story. He pulls me in with a glance, the glint of gold from a purse. I know everything and nothing about a woman I’ve never met. I hear him. 

For now? silence. I’m reminded of the sound of waiting. For sure there are seasons of riotous unrest marked by days, weeks even years of in your face rantings for change…NOW.  But sometimes we’re asked to say nothing while waiting.  I’m in the queue marked quiet. I’ll be silent.

He speaks…in arrows from a pulpit shot straight at the center of my heart. He speaks in snippets of conversation I hear from my children, the wise word wisdom of friends who love me. He speaks in heart revelation. The inner voice I’ve come to know as Christ’s alone. He speaks in the marsh. He is wind in wildflowers, a blood-red moon. The breeze that carries autumn leaves to the ground.

He speaks in silent confirmation. Let’s call it peace. It’s not likely he’ll offer a marching band, no tumbling cheerleaders or mystical, theatrical experience. If you’re looking for the lighting bolt, where the heavens separate to reveal a legion of angels carrying a scroll bearing your name …well, that probably won’t happen. When I pay attention, the messages he sends are no less powerful.  I hear him here… here , here and here. I listen for him in nature, in movement and music. In dreams and visions.

And when I can’t hear him. I set my heart to find hope in His word. It’s a love letter and map. A compass and promise. It tells me He speaks.

He speaks through story….yours, mine…hers.

Today I heard him in this song.
These words from one of my children – “you say you won’t get mad at me mama, but I know you will” – ouch
And this word from Priscilla Shirer

Ground yourself in this…He’s talking. Are you listening?

Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

Joining The Nester for the #31Days Writing Challenge

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Lisha Epperson