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Quiet Time Musings for 8/27/14: WHEN GOD SAYS, “SH-H-H… I KNOW.”

Posted by on August 27, 2014

It isn’t life that weights us down – it’s the way we carry it.

I read several chapters in Proverbs this morning, finding rare literary gems everywhere I looked.  Okay, where do I start?  Having begun, where do I stop?  There’s SO much here.

Story?  I know most of you love my stories.  Narrative?  This being a busy Wednesday in the life of our worshiping family, my normally-focused morning is chopped up with necessary travel since Babycakes and I won’t be home for dinner tonight much before 9.

Coffee - happy face place

Yeah-yeah-yeah.  I get it.

  • “That’s a horrible time to eat, just before going to bed.”
  • “Well, why don’t you just drive two vehicles?”
  • ( Fill in the blank with your fav suggestion/complaint )

It isn’t life that weights us down – it’s the way we carry it.

Scrolling down through this morning’s mail, this little jewel was waiting for me to notice its sparkle.  It took awhile for my racing pulse and in-a-flap thoughts to settle down enough to recognize God’s voice.  He does not yell at me.  He does not jog along beside me, waiting for me to stop at a traffic light, jogging in place, to try to break into my thoughts.

It’s more like I remember my retirement-age father sitting of an evening, reading in a favorite book or catching up on what the paper had to share.  He’d often lower whatever he was reading, glance over his glasses, patiently waiting for the straight-line gusts of my latest Diatribe of Urgent Histrionics to abate.

His benign gaze said it all.  “I know.  Whenever you’re ready to listen . . .”

That calm approach usually took a few reps to sink in.

It isn’t life that weights us down – it’s the way we carry it.

I’d like to tell you those days of immature “What-I-Want-Right-Nows” are done.  That where God and I connect, that kind of childish foolishness no longer exists.  That now as a seasoned, Spirit Wars veteran I’m not only willing to be quiet and listen the first time God looks over His glasses at me; I’m eagerly sitting at His feet, having pulled a hassock close and ready to take notes.

I’d like to tell you that.  Really, I would.  It would impress you with my credentials to write all this encouraging, helpful stuff into your life.  But I can’t.

Oh, there are times I sense God’s hand at work in and through life’s vagaries.  There are times I slow down and thoughtfully begin to look around and listen for Him.

Yet I still find myself on occasion running breathlessly into God’s Living Room, pouring forth my list of grievances even before skidding to a halt.  Fortunately I am much less volatile, more readily picking up on His gentle, knowing smile that always says:

“SH-H-H…. I know.”

That’s where the veteran part kicks in.  Yeah.  I know You do, Lord.  I know You’ve been watching all along.  You know the situation, You know me and how You best want to use me in and through the whole thing.  Help me, Lord, to focus on You and how I can be Your hands, feet, ears, voice, and arms of compassion here.

Know what?  He’s never failed to work in me, teaching me more about myself; and He’s never failed to work through me, teaching me more about Himself.

So—Heaven:  carpet or real wood?  I know all about the streets, but it says nothing about the floors.  Just curious.

And what does God read?

© D. Dean Boone, August 2014

Coffee - happy face place

 

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