Just a Sheep I – Selective Listening

I stood on a small ridge, looking over a shallow gully where a herd of sheep was staring back at me. Sharing the same pasture, I had hoped for some sort of friendly sheep connection leading to me getting to pet them. They stared at me, I talked to them. They watched me and I tried to think of a sheep song I could sing to convince them to overlook my being a stranger. I tried to convince them that they really were very nice sheep that would like to have their heads rubbed. The glares I received in return stated clearly that I was not winning these sheep over. They didn’t know me, nor did they have any inclination to get to know me. My voice was not recognized.

As much as I would have liked to pet at least one of those wooly headed creatures, I understand their reluctance. This caution for any unknown was part of how they defended themselves. They were listening for a familiar voice, the voice of their shepherd. My voice was that of a stranger, and did not appeal to their sense of security. However, if the shepherd were present, things might be greatly different. The voice of the shepherd is the voice of protection, good pasture, care and adequate shelter. Knowing the voice and trusting it, the sheep will follow the shepherd from place to place.

As Christ is my shepherd, I need to rely on his voice. As a shepherd, he provides me with truth, grace, love, nourishment, protection and refreshment. This means I need know the voice I am listening for, and that I actually need to be listening. It is so easy to be distracted by other voices, I know it doesn’t take much sometimes for me to lose that focus. The background noises crank up the volume and I forget to listen, wandering off on my own. Pretty soon I am stuck. I may not be entirely certain how I got there and will need some assistance to get out. Standing there, stuck, I am forced to wait and listen, hoping to hear the familiar voice of my shepherd coming to assist. What a sweet sound that is, especially because I am not great at waiting for rescue - I get squirmy and impatient.

Towards the end of Tuesday on this very busy week, a few of us agreed that surely it should be Thursday. Can we just make the next day Friday by group decision? I was tired, feeling the pressure I place on myself as I watch the list of projects I want to participate in grow. Wednesday came, the group vote for Friday was overruled by calendar makers, and again the day primarily passed in a blur of rushing. Where in the midst of the hectic movement around me was the shepherd’s voice? It was hard to listen – let alone hear in all of that commotion. I felt stuck in the pace of the moments, and was waiting impatiently, hoping to be hearing my shepherd’s voice once again to calm my heart and mind against the ticking of the clock.

Sitting at a picnic table that evening at a Bible study and fellowship time, I felt my spirit being refreshed even as my eyes grew increasingly tired. In the midst of this great conversation, a young man with his hand behind his back left the road, came down the hill, took the steps and crossed the pavilion. Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect to see when the hand returned to his front. What I did not anticipate seeing was a beautiful yellow rose, tinged in coral. My favorite of rose colors is this, the one that looks like a sunset was shaped into a flower and smells like all the sweetness of summer. I looked into the face of a young man and his big grin. I couldn’t help but smile in return. “This is for you,” is all the rose giver said.

I’ve never seen this fellow before, nor do I expect to meet him in the future. The interaction lasted for a moment and contained less than a dozen words between us. But that moment will stay with me for some time. I was tired, feeling caught up in the background noise and wondering exactly how I was going to fit the rest of my week into the actual span of a week. Then, in an unexpected way, the voice of my shepherd burst through the noise with a friendly smile and a beautiful rose. It was an encouragement, a refocusing of listening for my distracted thinking. And in the moment, through the actions of a stranger, I listened to the familiar voice of my shepherd. He whispered to me through a sunset colored rose, caught my attention with the fresh fragrance, and told me that he was with me.

“Most assuredly, I say to you, he who does not enter the sheepfold by the door, but climbs up some other way, the same is a thief and a robber. But he who enters by the door is the shepherd of the sheep. To him the doorkeeper opens, and the sheep hear his voice; and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. And when he brings out his own sheep, he goes before them; and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. Yet they will by no means follow a stranger, but will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers.” 

John 10:1-5

The Voice in Fragile Silence

Pairing my favorite writing music, Chopin, with the sound of the summer rain, I made my way to the front porch this morning. Picking up my pen, journal, coffee and Bible along the way, I sat quietly waiting for actual words to translate from thought to ink on the page. As the dogs played in the rain (or avoided it all together), the words came in waves like the sprinkle to deluge coming from the sky. Today, this is my time of quiet.

It’s hard to be quiet, not meaning the absence of sound, but the stilling of my mind and heart. I choose to put aside my things to-do, things to think through and things to plan out. Distractions are numerous, roosting in the tree in front of me and singing a siren song of urgency, people, prayers, must-dos, needs, when am I going to-dos, whys, how comes, contingency plans and don’t forgets. Each feathered member of the flock is chirping in my mental ear, saying pay attention to me because I’m important. And, they are – but in the scale of priorities, this must rank higher.

This time is when I consciously choose to seek the gentle whisper of a voice in a fragile silence that is easy to miss. My spirit craves this time, my heart is strengthened by its power. Why? What happens? As I sit here, it would appear to be a time that is nothing more miraculous than the goodness of another day. But, it is when I am quiet in mind and heart I can hear God’s voice best. 

Though not an audible voice, he makes himself heard nonetheless. Like sitting in companionable silence with a friend, this is a comfortable place to be this morning. I can trust the words my friend, my God, says. He waits and encourages me to listen, an act of love. This is where I am stretched and challenged to be more like Christ. This is where I can run when the journey is too much for my strength. This is where I can turn when I am broken over the cry of my heart. This is my place of navigational refocus when I am stymied on which path to take, especially when there are many great options available. This is where I am redirected when I have made poor choices. This is my greatest place of praise, celebrating those abundant everyday miracles.

And the response of that gentle whisper, many times it feels like the answer Elijah hears, “What are you doing here,” from 1 Kings 19:9b. Different emphasis can be placed on distinct words in that question and subtly change the meaning.

                What are you doing here?

                                What are you doing here?

                                                What are you doing here?

                                                                What are you doing here?

                                                                                What are you doing here?

I find my responses to this question come in the same starts and stops as the writing does, as I pause to think through each phrase. Praise, friendship, connectedness, supplication, restoration, protection, hope, the need to hear that voice – The Voice, that is my motivation. That is why I am here.

I say the silence is fragile because it can be easily broken. It demands a discipline and desire from me to actively step away from my calendared, socially connected world of IMs, emails, texts, posts and messages to focus elsewhere. It is time for me to listen and hear from the most important messenger, to hear from God.

Pause, Stop, Recess, Suspend, Breathe and Listen

 Mondays seem to be synonymous with busy; emails, phone calls and deadlines approach and I start to tackle my to-do list. In the midst of the hectic schedules, it can be so easy to forget to take a moment to appreciate the beauty in the moment.

So… I stopped to smell a rose. It only takes a moment to pause and smell this beautiful little bloom, breathing deeply to take in the sweet scent. Small lines of pink need to be appreciated in the midst of the swirl of yellow. Beauty of glossy leaves made me pause to admire their deep green color.

And… I listened to the rain, watching it land drop by drop on the branches of a small tree. Leaves danced with the landing of the drops; shimmering in the late afternoon light.  Small drops held by surface tension cling to the edges of leaves.

Busy moments are all well and good; I really don’t care to be bored. I simply work to remain the balance in the small moments to breathe in the scents, listen to the rain, and enjoy the pause. Giving myself that pause not only makes the day a bit more enjoyable, but lets me appreciate the beauty created around me.

Being Still When the Lights Go Out

It was a dark and stormy night when the lightning flashed, the thunder clapped, and the lights flickered twice before fading into a vacuum of darkness…

Okay, that didn’t actually happen.  It is cloudy, and the evening is late and becoming dim.  But the night has not really settled in yet, and there were no dramatic moments – the lights went out in the blink of an eye.  The why and how long of the power outage is still to be determined; in the meanwhile sitting in a quiet and darkening house surrounded by wonderful smelling candles and sleeping dogs is not a terrible interruption to the constantly connected electrical world we live in.  This gives me a chance to put pen to paper, sit in the glow of a pine candle (my favorite scent), and write on what paper I could find using my phone as a flash light.  The paper could be gray or maybe lavender, it’s hard to tell with the low light fading the colors out.  But, in the midst of this outage, I think it would be an ideal time to be still. 

When I have an opportunity to be still, I realize afresh how I crave this more than my routine indicates.  After coming back from a time that involved stillness, I find myself wanting this more frequently.  In the presence of everyday life, my sense of mental equilibrium can apparently settle into something not entirely good because stillness tends to leave me falling into an exhausted sleep.  When I do get a period of quiet, enforced by a power outage though it may be, it can draw attention to the need to be still and regain balance.

“Be still and know that I am God” you say.  Be still.  Still. Still.  Still moving.  Still squirming.  Still yacking about irrelevant things.  Still having conversations in my head.  Still not focused.  Still not listening.  Still not having a mental slow down.  Still trying.  Still straining to listen.  Still settling.  Still need to add that last item to my list.  Still, be still. That is generally when the phone rings, the e-mail arrives, the dog barks, the calendared event starts, or I just fall asleep.  Be still I say to myself!  You are supposed to be still and know.  Can’t I know that God is God while moving about?  This still thing is awfully difficult.  I tend toward curiosity and I wonder why be still?  Why not be quiet and know or be noisy and know – I could probably accomplish that a lot better than being still. 

The lights just came back on.  My thanks to the power crew that is working tonight.  I do like our electrical conveniences.  In the growing darkness though, I did have a moment when stillness started.  After one of the moments the dogs of insisted we go out, I tried to be still.  When I’m still, I don’t hear myself moving about.  I hear the patter of a gentle rain starting to fall.  I hear night sounds as frogs and crickets perform virtuoso lullabies.  I smell the awakening smell of spring warmed earth, new leaves, and the beginnings of spring blooms.  Be still and know. 

Be still is not the easiest thing for me, but I can understand why I need to be still.  I need to hear God and readjust my direction to move forward.  My direction right now is to be still a little more often – it’s like a vacation for the soul.