The Collectives

When He speaks…

Every Sunday is a battle in our house, without fail. Gracie loses her shoes. Ian pesters EVERYONE, including the dogs, to within an inch of our lives. Jo always seems to be standing exactly in the way of all of us trying our best to be ready for church on time and hasn’t a clue that, by her standing stock still in the pathway to the door, she could be a stumbling hazard and a grump-maker because she won’t simply sit down for a minute until it is time to load up into the van. Hannah and Barry inevitably loudly grumble about their younger siblings moving something of theirs they now can’t find and Katie Rae, bless her, moves at the speed of pond water as is according to her very make up.

So, this leaves Stewart and I profoundly agitated and just about fed up enough to say, “ENOUGH! That’s it! We’re not going! You’re ALL going to bed early and we, your parents, are going to book a GROWN-UP only holiday while you all stay home to sort out your quibbles with your grandmother watching you for a week!”

DO we go on the holiday? Do we ever actually get to church on time? Well, you’d have to ask Jeff and Rachael but I believe we get there very nearly on time and with only a whiff of disagreement on our lips before we compose ourselves enough to sit down (then promptly stand up) for worship.

And then? Oh, and then… There’s the car ride home!

By this point, dinner is a distant memory and HANGRY has taken over. We try to resist the temptation of stopping at Checkers for 6 of their $5 meals to split between us (I can’t take another Wendy’s 4 for $4, hence the change up to Checkers’ value meal) but this means dealing with the whining, crying, and general gnashing of teeth and that’s from us grown up people never mind the Littles.

This last Sunday was a different story altogether. Well. For the second half of the journey, at least.

As usual, Gracie was whining about how hungry she was, Ian was pinching her and Jo and Katie Rae were taking turns shredding up only the mice know what kind of leftover take-out trash in the back row of seats to make confetti too small to pick up by hand, a messy clean up job for late. Hannah and Barry were blissfully unaware of the mayhem because we let them drive separately, a necessary extra expense we can’t really afford but make do to make peace. We turned onto Bowater Road and Gracie’s complaints were nearing frenzied status when God spoke:

“Roll down the windows. All of them.”

I didn’t take a second to decide and rolled down the windows.

Now, a little back story:

I have asthma and allergies, not a great combination here in East Tennessee, and my recent surgery has me extra cautious because it just plain hurts to cough and sneeze right now. In fact, I’ve had an asthma attack at least every other day, sometimes twice a day, since a few days before surgery. Common sense would tell me to keep the windows firmly shut and the air conditioner on to filter the interior air. What’s more, there are chicken farms on Bowater Road and, after Hannah and I contracting histoplasmosis several years ago, we’re keen to avoid another histo infection. In addition to all of this, Gracie doesn’t always like her hair flying around when the windows are open, becoming quite the disheveled growling bear in the process.

Yet, I didn’t even give a second’s pause to think. I opened the windows.

Instantly, the Littles started laughing. Hands in the midst of mischief reached to ride the air streams coming in on warm drafts. Everyone had messy hair and not one of us cared a bit. The mood of our car changed in a moment as if we blinked and went from a dour, gravelly and grating ride home then transformation happened and we were riding on a smooth, grass-gliding sleigh through new blooms and leafing trees.

Oh, sure, this ride home was nothing life changing. It was no message from the Lord pronouncing judgement on the people of Israel for their disobedience, no voice from a donkey trying not to be killed by the angel of the Lord in the road with a sword waiting for Balaam for not going the way he should go. (That’s a GREAT story in Numbers 22!)

God spoke. Clearly. Quietly and with gentle surety. And He was right.

I am so quick to rely on my own understanding that I can be guilty of not waiting on God to speak – you only have to ask any of my teachers growing up, my mom, Stewart, my old pastors and youth leaders, probably people I worked with, friends… Guilty as charged. Try as I might, I quickly assess a situation and act accordingly. As I’ve grown the decisions are made with, hopefully, a good deal more gained wisdom (from failing – a LOT) but they are still mine and not always ones I waited for God to give.

You know, I bet you anything Solomon had the same problem. No, I’m not comparing myself to his wisdom, goodness, no! I bet he did, though. Think about it – all the wisdom under the sun and all the wealth, fame, respect from other world leaders, even whole sections of the Bible down to him sharing what God gave… And look what happened…

“Vanity of vanities,” says the Preacher; “vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” Ecclesiastes 1:1

Solomon starts out the book he writes, declaring it’s all vanity and a decision I make on my own without waiting on the Lord is simply that: vanity.

Jonah tried to skip town and was swallowed by a whale for his troubles. Vanity.
Paul, then Saul, was on his way to go and murder a bunch of Jesus’ followers when he was struck blind. Vanity.
Zacharias had THE angel of the Lord, Gabriel, tell him he was going to be a father and, in Zacharias’ own knowledge and understanding knew he and his wife to be as old as dirt. Vanity to think THE angel of the Lord, the big guy himself, Gabriel, must not know what he was talking about. Vanity.

God often speaks to us and we refuse to listen or, like me, we act BEFORE we even think to ask the Lord what He wants us to do. Thankfully, in His amazing mercy, He keeps talking to us and waits for US to be patient, to turn our hearts toward Him instead of the goal we have in front of us.

When Jesus told His disciples what was about to happen, He told them to wait in the Upper Room for His Holy Spirit. Do you remember? (Acts 1 and 2)

When God speaks… It is a NEW thing, a holy thing and a thing to be treasured, immediately obeyed and waited upon.

Do you have someone like that in your life, someone you hang on their every word? For some, it’s waiting on the next Avengers movie with such anticipation they wait in line for tickets several nights in advance of opening night. For others, they wait with finger hovering over a shaking computer mouse as tickets go on sale for Taylor Swift’s newest concert release date. I think those count as hanging on every word (or lyric).

Do I wait on Him like that? Nah, I’m more apt to ask Him a question then jump to my own conclusions and deal with the consequences because at least then it’s all in my own control. Youch…

Sometimes, God surprises me and speaks before I’ve even asked the question. Why is it so much easier when He speaks first? Well, because then I’m not left wondering and worrying and strategizing and planning and…

How much more would I recognize Him speaking first if I took His Word to heart more regularly? Sure, I read my Bible and pray every day as we’re taught to do in Sunday school. (Did you hear the familiar children’s church song playing when you read that? I did.) Reading and praying is about more than our growth as people and as followers of Jesus – it’s about learning what His voice sounds like. How can I recognize His quiet voice when the world around me is shouting, “Buy THIS to get _ results!”? Or, “War is starting/has started/is about to start in __ country!” Or even, “Research suggest consuming _ leads to (insert horrible disease here).”

Sometimes, when God speaks, He roars. Usually when that happens it’s a life-changing event and I’ve never heard a roar myself. What I HAVE heard has been about like I heard it on the drive home from church the other night: quiet, sure, and firm. I heard it when I asked Him how long He wanted me to stay in a REALLY uncomfortable mission internship. I heard it when we asked if we were to return to Scotland. I heard it when He told me to go to the bloomin’ hard mission internship in the first place.

With me, He voice is quiet. Firm. Kind but insistent.

How does His voice sound to you? Is He musical with you? Full of laughter? Or mourning? Is He loud and boisterous or does He sound like the wind and waves to you?

Find out