I love spending time on the front porch at the lake. Each morning is similar in that I take our little four-legged baby, Chloe, out to potty. Then I go straight to the coffee pot and fill my mug with piping hot coffee.
Chloe knows that we then go out on the front porch to spend time with the Father. It’s a precious, precious time. At first, I simply sit and sip, allowing my heart and mind a few moments to begin unwinding. I listen to the quiet and the birds for a bit and then listen to a few songs of worship music, taking me to a place of rest and communication with the Father. And finally I open His Word so I can hear His message to me. Each passage is a personal love letter specifically for me.
Last week while I was out on the porch listening to the quiet, I recalled how I used to sit outside with my young grandchildren, trying to count how many different bird “voices” we heard. Way back then, we were amazed at the variety of birds shouting their praise. The birds had obviously been there all along, but we didn’t hear them until we got quiet and allowed ourselves to listen.
As I sat listening last week and remembering those precious times with my grandchildren, I decided to see how many unique bird voices broke through the silence. I listened intently as one, two, three, then four and five voices floated on the breeze. I concentrated even harder and focused my hearing, tuning out everything that wasn’t the language of birds. I had to want to hear them.
Six, seven, eight, and nine spoke to me as I sat, drinking my coffee, and listening for the birds. Then I turned to my scripture reading for the day.
My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry . . . . James 1:19 (NIV)
A new lesson touched me . . . at a much deeper place.
I realized that if I want to hear the words of my Father, I had to do the same thing I did to hear the birds’ voices. I have to be quiet and listen. I have to concentrate with everything I have and tune out everything that’s not the language of the Father. I have to want to hear Him.
How many times have I sat in my quiet time, half-heartedly listening for His voice as my mind wandered to the day’s To-Do list, the emails I need to respond to, the bookkeeping I need to catch up?
It was a beautiful truth, spoken from the Father’s heart and straight into mine.
What about you? Are you able to hear the voices of the birds? Are you able to hear the voice of God? If not, perhaps you’re like me and need to make listening a priority by “. . . being quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.”
Praise His holy name!
Vonda
