Whisper

I am awakened from the depths of night with the quiet beckoning of an unseen whisper.

 “Come and see something,” He murmurs softly in my ear, that voice I recognize but so rarely heed.

“Oh, but my bed is so warm. My eyes are so heavy. The darkness is so cozy,” I answer back.

Yet deep in my heart I know that if I don’t get up, I will miss something. How many miracles have I missed simply because I wasn’t watching? How many discoveries have I overshadowed with my excuses? How many glimpses of heaven have I exchanged for the promise of comfort?

The whisper grows louder. “Come and see something, child. Come and be with Me.”

A year ago I never would have risen. I would have ignored the voice, dismissed the invitation. But a heart that knows the chains of darkness cannot refuse an offer of life.

So I rise, tired, stumbling, expectant.

The stillness of night envelops me as I sit bundled in an embrace of wool, my eyes slowly awakening to the coming grandeur. I look toward the east, awaiting that indescribable moment when light bursts forth and darkness scurries to hide.  The trees grow silent in anticipation. The sunflowers bow before the unseen Presence. My breath catches as the flames of morning lick the horizon and the earth erupts into song. Their song seeps into my soul, and I cannot help but join in their chorus. Here in the solitude of morning, basking in the blaze of fire, the scales on my eyes and the walls around my heart dissolve into the beauty. How much have I missed? How often do I shield my eyes from the holiness around me because I am too tired, too angry, too busy, and too selfish?

I hear the whisper again. “I’m here. Do you see me? I’m not only in the brilliance. I’m in the cries of your toddler. I’m in the mounds of laundry hiding in your closets. I’m in the brokenness of your dreams. I’m in the hush of evening. I’m in your chaos, your laughter, your tears—and even in your darkness.”

I’m beginning to see.  I’m learning to allow the holy access into every aspect of life. To allow my wounds to be wells of healing that can be poured out for others. As I sit in the silence of morning, I look around and I see. I see Him all around me.  

The first glimpse of a new day

The sound of wings taking flight

Wind blowing through curtains

The strong lungs of a blue-eyed 3 yr. old

A tail wagging

A garden bursting with fruit

The call of geese

The familiar smile of an old friend.

1 Kings 19:11-12

“Go out and stand before me on the mountain,” the Lord told him. And as Elijah stood there, the Lord passed by, and a mighty windstorm hit the mountain. It was such a terrible blast that the rocks were torn loose, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake there was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire there was the sound of a gentle whisper.

Are you listening? Where do see Him today?

Questions to ponder:

What keeps you from seeing God all around you?

Have you ever missed a miracle because you didn't take the time to watch for it?

What is God saying to you today?