I thrive in quiet spaces. A good book can envelop me for hours, and although I love community, I have no issue with being alone for long expanses of time. And in a house with too young boys, this does not happen very often.
They are loud. They demand my attention. They fight and whine and ask me for snacks every five minutes. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But to find that quiet space, I have to be intentional.
We live in a culture that is noisy. Not just audibly, but mentally as well. It can drain you in the worst possible way. We are constantly being bombarded with images and ideas of how we are supposed to live, look, and feel.
If we don’t look how we’re supposed to look or feel how we’re supposed to feel, there is always a quick, easy solution. Always. A diet. A pill. An eight minute work out routine. Endless possibilities for endless headaches.
Here’s the thing. When I hear God speak to me, it’s usually in a whisper. Not a loud, booming voice. Not on a billboard. Sometimes, when I’m deaf to anything else, yes, but most of the time it’s still and small.
He whispers in a little nudge to call a friend I haven’t spoken to in months. He prods me to stay silent instead of blurting out the first thing that pops into my head. He speaks to me in the silence of the morning when no one else is awake.
He’s there in the sunsets and the first hints of fall. Always speaking. If we have ears to listen.
He’s whispering your name.
*This post was written for Five Minute Friday. A beautiful, bold group of writers who free write for five minutes every week on one word. Today’s word was: whisper. Click the button below to learn more.