A Still Small Voice

We were at my wife's parents for Thanksgiving last night and they had some company over to enjoy the meal with us. It was a wonderful evening, but between the racket of our two young kids and their two young kids, Oakley, our youngest, only 15 months old, was up a lot later than usual. When we finally got her to bed she had a very restless sleep, and at 2:30 in the morning I got up to calm her screaming. I got her settled down, changed her, held her and got her to sleep on my shoulder as I rocked her.

Then, as soon as I put her down in her playpen, she woke up and started crying again. I used a trick I learned with my other children and stroked my middle finger down her nose while the fingers on either side gently brushed her eyelids closed--it has always seemed to have a calming effect and gets their eyes closed. I did this until she was back asleep, but again, as soon as I took my weight off the playpen and started to turn back to bed, Oakley was awake again and crying.

I turned my attention back to her and she quieted down. So I pulled up some pillows and a sheet right next to her playpen and laid down where she could see me in the darkness. She scuttled over to the side of the playpen and we stared at each other for a while before we both fell asleep.

Unfortunately that was not the end of the night, as every half hour or so she would wake up and begin crying. I too would wake up and whisper quietly to her that I was still there beside, that everything was still okay, that she had nothing to be afraid of. Sometimes it took a little bit for her to hear me over her crying, having to wait until she stopped for a short breath, but when she heard my voice beside her she quieted down again and went back to sleep. I never wanted to use anything more than a quiet voice being fearful she would be roused from her state of slumber and fully wake up. So I settled for a still small voice and continued my reassurances until she was ready to hear.

And as I laid there whispering to my daughter it occurred to me that this is how God often speaks to me--In a still small voice. A voice, that too often I refuse to, or can't hear over my own crying and complaining, and trying to solve my problems on my own. A voice that does not call louder than that quieted whisper, but waits until I am ready to hear and listen. It also struck me that, like Oakley, I forget that my Heavenly Father is always there, whether I can see him or hear him, or not. God is always there for me, waiting for me to come back to Him, waiting for me want to listen to His promises that He will always be there to protect me and guide me and love me.