I want to be a whisper-hearer.
I want to keenly hear the sometimes inaudible hints that light our paths, that shape our lives.
My Mom used to tell me that God whispers, whispers, whispers to get our attention – really subtle-like. If we heard the message, if we were open to outside leading, we would hear it. We’d receive it.
But, she would tell me, if you don’t respond to the whisper, whisper, whisper… you’re going to get a THUMP. Basically, you’re walking down the road and a piano falls on your head from the penthouse apartment above. The thump is something that wakes you up and makes you think, “Man. I didn’t see that coming.”
The good news is that God doesn’t drop pianos.
More good news? I don’t think non-whisper-hearers are penalized for missing a whisper…
But I think my Mom was on to something…
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Whispers exist and they takes different shapes.
They’re in the teenager who lingers a little longer in the room after the conversation is over, too nervous to tell you what’s really going on.
They’re the pause your husband gives, before turning over and going to sleep.
They’re the wink from a friend… a silent affirmation that she’s with you.
They’re the feeling you get when the decision you’ve been tormented over is… the right decision.
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Sometimes the whispers are louder, they use actual language:
It’s the little one who says, “Can you sit with me for a while? Can you read with me… just a little longer?”
Sometimes the whisper says, “…no, it’s ok… you can say no.”
The whisper can take shape in the ask of the elder parent, “… Could you call me more often…if you have time?”
Sometimes the whisper is a YELL, A SCREAM… a wail.
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Whispers are everywhere.
In phone calls and texts.
In church services and music.
In conversations and starry night skies.
In quiet drives and hugs.
In a pat on the back and a tear in the eye.
They’re in painting, in writing, in reading and laughing.
We find whispers in silence.
And in a room full of people.
The whispers are in our own hearts.
The trick is hearing them.
Being open to them.
Letting them have their space.
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I want to be a whisper-hearer.
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It seems like now, more than any other time in my life – in our lives – we have the opportunity to hear the whispers.
The everyday distractions have changed, they’ve shifted.
Calendars are clear.
Obligations are fewer.
To-do lists, slimmer.
Focus has shifted.
Circles have narrowed.
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It seems like there’s no better time to be a whisper-hearer.
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Note: The picture above? It’s the side-door to my Mom’s little house in the woods. We laid the stones. She planted the plants. She imagined the life.
She moved to the woods, a world she had never experienced before, when I was 21. She was 46.
I get it now.
I bet she honed her whisper-hearing there.
The older I get, the more I want to be like her.
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