The night was as black as tar. My body was sufficiently wrapped in layers like a securely wrapped chrysalis. Warmth freely radiated out from my fragile body. Thank goodness, it was trapped in these efficient layers of soft cloth. The crisp coldness danced and swirled around me. As I strolled around our loop, my eyes took in the many dwellings. Some softly lit and others as dark as night.
Breathing deeply, I was oddly aware that I was missing something. Something so delicate and precious, I would need to strain to hear it. Like a new mother on high alert, I removed my ear buds and kept walking. On this night, I needed to clearly hear whatever it was. My heart was in serious need of direction and my mind was searching for a nugget of truth to grasp hold of.
Four miles later, I returned to my cozy, yellow cottage adorned with white Christmas lights in the window. Plopping down in the chair at my electronic connection to the world, I placed a CD in the drive, closed my eyes and listened. Instantly, I knew this what what I had been so focused on hearing. The previous hour spent walking had been in preparation for these fresh tender words that were now being poured out so gingerly with grace from my sweet friend of 35 years. Even if I had not understood the meaning of these words, just the sound of her voice would have brought much needed refreshment and life to my soul. As these words twirled their way through my ear canals and into the recesses of my mind, they seemed to be on a mission. Refusing to move, I simply sat and let them pour over me. The cadence of her familiar voice reassured me that I was not alone.
I had to wonder if this is how my Father feels when I call to Him. Does it move His heart the way hearing my friend's voice moved and comforted mine? Does He pause and strain to hear my individual voice call out to Him in worship? Does my voice make Him yearn for my company?
As I continued sitting there, clear glisteny tears trickled down my puffy cheeks. I did not wipe them away, but let them collect in a puddle on the desk. I embraced each word and phrase, that was spoken and allowed them to sink all the way in. They located and knit together with other words that were spoken earlier in the week. You see, it had been an extremely difficult six weeks in almost every aspect of my life, but these words were bringing into focus some of the issues. Truly they were a gift.
Tonight, I am grateful for the gift of hearing and friends who speak sweet, life-giving truth. May this Plank-Eyed Girl not forget the depth and beauty of these gifts. My prayer for you is that your ears be tuned to His gentle voice and the friends who love you and speak truth.
Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl
I had to wonder if this is how my Father feels when I call to Him. Does it move His heart the way hearing my friend's voice moved and comforted mine? Does He pause and strain to hear my individual voice call out to Him in worship? Does my voice make Him yearn for my company?
As I continued sitting there, clear glisteny tears trickled down my puffy cheeks. I did not wipe them away, but let them collect in a puddle on the desk. I embraced each word and phrase, that was spoken and allowed them to sink all the way in. They located and knit together with other words that were spoken earlier in the week. You see, it had been an extremely difficult six weeks in almost every aspect of my life, but these words were bringing into focus some of the issues. Truly they were a gift.
Tonight, I am grateful for the gift of hearing and friends who speak sweet, life-giving truth. May this Plank-Eyed Girl not forget the depth and beauty of these gifts. My prayer for you is that your ears be tuned to His gentle voice and the friends who love you and speak truth.
Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl
