Photo taken by J. Scott Fortson
I have spent a good portion of my life
asking God to speak.
Sometimes in the middle of trouble.
Sometimes when everything was going just fine.
And sometimes at three in the morning,
when the house was quiet
and I couldn’t explain why I was awake.
I used to think hearing God
would be a little more obvious.
A voice from heaven.
A burning bush.
Something that would leave no room
for misunderstanding.
But I’ve lived long enough to wonder
how much I’ve missed
because I was waiting for something louder.
Elijah knew something about that.
He stood on a mountain
while the wind tore through the rocks.
Then came an earthquake.
Then fire.
And God was not in those things.
Afterward came a gentle whisper.
I’ve thought about that passage many times.
Maybe the trouble isn’t that God has stopped speaking.
Maybe we’ve forgotten how to be quiet.
We fill every empty space with something.
The television.
The telephone.
The news.
Somebody else’s trouble.
Somebody else’s opinion.
Lord knows we’ve got plenty of those.
And when a difficult decision comes along,
we start asking everybody what they think.
Friends. Family. Coworkers.
People who love us.
People who barely know us.
Sometimes we aren’t looking for wisdom.
We’re looking for somebody to agree with us.
There’s nothing wrong with good counsel.
Scripture encourages it.
But there comes a point
when twenty opinions are just twenty more voices
standing between us and the decision
we’re afraid to make.
I’ve been guilty of that myself.
And prayer?
I wonder how often I’ve treated prayer
like a conversation where I do all the talking.
I bring my worries.
My plans.
My requests.
My preferred outcomes.
I tell God what I need,
how I think it ought to happen,
and occasionally when I’d like it done.
Then I say amen
and go about my business.
Samuel had a better idea.
Speak, Lord.
Your servant is listening.
Not explaining.
Not negotiating.
Not trying to get the last word.
Listening.
Sometimes the silence stays silent.
Sometimes you wait longer than you wanted.
Sometimes the answer is no.
And sometimes you discover
that the thing you were asking for
wasn’t what you needed after all.
But there’s something about sitting still
without demanding anything
that changes a person.
And then there are those little nudges.
Those are the ones that get me.
A name comes to mind
while you’re driving down the road.
An old friend you haven’t spoken to in years.
Somebody you ought to check on.
A family member you need to forgive.
A person you should thank
while they’re still here to hear it.
You think about calling.
Then you don’t.
You get busy.
You tell yourself you’ll do it tomorrow.
You wonder if it would be awkward.
And eventually the thought passes.
I’ve done that more times than I care to admit.
Not every passing thought
is a message from heaven.
Sometimes a thought is just a thought.
That’s why we have Scripture.
That’s why we need wisdom.
But when a thought leads you toward kindness,
what exactly are you waiting for?
Call them.
Send the message.
Make the visit.
Tell somebody you love them.
You may never know
why they crossed your mind that morning.
You may never know
what was happening on the other end
of that telephone.
And that’s all right.
Not everything good needs
a supernatural explanation.
Sometimes loving your neighbor
is simply loving your neighbor.
And perhaps that’s part of what
we’ve made too complicated.
We want God to reveal the next ten years
when we haven’t been faithful
with the next ten minutes.
We ask for direction
while ignoring the person
standing right in front of us.
We pray for opportunities to serve
and then complain when somebody needs our time.
I know that man.
I’ve been him.
More than once.
But I’m learning.
Slowly.
That stillness matters.
That wisdom doesn’t always come from a crowd.
That prayer requires more than words.
And that faith eventually has to get up
and do something.
Above all, I’m learning
that the more familiar I become
with the life and words of Jesus,
the less mysterious some decisions become.
He already told us to love.
To forgive.
To show mercy.
To care for the lonely.
To visit the sick.
To make peace where we can.
We don’t need another sign
to begin doing those things.
I imagine I’ll spend the rest of my life
trying to recognize the voice of God.
I’ve spent this much of it learning to listen.
But I hope I spend less of it
waiting for thunder.
And more of it paying attention
to the still small things.
The person.
The moment.
The kindness left undone.
Because one day
the telephone won’t be answered.
The chair will be empty.
And the words we meant to say
will have nowhere left to go.
So call the friend.
Tell your people you love them.
Sit quietly with the Lord.
And when the opportunity comes
to do something good,
don’t make it harder than it is.
The world has enough noise.
And I have made my share of it.
Maybe the next time God whispers,
I’ll be quiet enough to listen.
And when somebody’s name
comes wandering through my mind,
I’ll pick up the telephone.
Boutwell Jones
Red Clay Gospel
