On a farm that I know and love, there are sounds easy to hear. During the day time—and at certain times of the year, of course, the sounds change—are crows cawing, the heavy machinery at the nearby rock quarry, a lone bald eagle screeching, cows mooing, or a number of song birds singing their praises unto God for another glorious day…or perhaps a blue jay singing a warning to the animals in the timber of a hunter waiting patiently for his opportune kill. And with wide eyes looking about or activity abuzz, something else speaks but it often ignored by our busy-ness. It is as frustrating—if one cared to listen at all—as trying to hear an important word or conversation with distractions and noise everywhere. It is like the roar of ocean waves crashing on the rocks in southern Australia or the noise of the waves slapping the shores of a lake like in Minnesota or Michigan. But the delicate sound of a small happy wave kissing a nearby rock on a glacier-fed lake in the Big Horn mountains or the happy ripples of a creek flowing reminds the hearer to slow down and pay attention.
It is at night at this farm when the same voice who spoke during the day time can sometimes be heard better. No birds singing, no machines rumbling and beeping, no cows mooing, baby frogs chirping or older frogs saying cha-ga-rum…just the breeze through the lone Cottonwood tree or perhaps the wind through the Locust, Hickory, Walnut, and a number of other trees at the edge of the pasture. Closing your eyes, relaxing your breathing, and allowing the sounds wash around and blow through you, you don’t feel as an intruder but a part of the whole. You belong here. You belong to God.
And it is in that silence the Lord can speak the loudest. His voice guiding, comforting, affirming as if a loving father telling of stories before a fire or reassuring the path to take. As Elijah learned, it isn’t in the mighty events that God speaks but in that still-small voice (1 Kings 19:11-13). The voice who thunders with authority and dominion to cause Moses to command, “Stand still, and see the salvation of the LORD…” (Exodus 14:13). It is the voice that calms the soul which says, “Be still and know I am God” (Psalm 46:10). As the psalmist reminds in Psalm 29:8-9, “The voice of the LORD shakes the wilderness; the LORD shakes the Wilderness of Kadesh. The voice of the LORD makes the deer give birth, and stripes the forest bare; and in His temple everyone says, ‘Glory!’” A voice of a gentle reminder, “You believe in God, believe also in Me” (John 14:1). And a rejuvenating voice that says, “Behold, I make all things new” (Revelation 21:5).
And that is what is often missing in many a Christian, especially in times of loss or wandering. Whether we unable to touch the throne of heaven during prayer or seeking an answer in His Word, we want thunder, we want lights, we want dramatics, we want the path made plain. We don’t want to wander through parched lands of our quest but to be always beside the pools of still waters. But life isn’t always—as we all easily acknowledge—calm. There is chaos. There is hurt. There is pain. There are seasons of joy peppered with seasons of sadness or fear. And for some, our seasons of darkness seem to linger longer than seasons of light.
But where can one find the answer? It can be found after praying with a lost one who accepted Jesus as their Lord and Savior. It can be found when the disciple finally gets it. It can be found in a church service (revival, rally, or conference). It can be found in our prayer and devotional time. And it can be found in that place we know…the place where we did not intrude but are part of the whole. Where it isn’t about us, but it is about Him speaking His majestic whisper.