Psalms 46:10

I once had a friend share that God rarely speaks in a booming voice but more often in a quiet whisper that echoes around the caverns of our soul.

I LOVE THIS IMAGE!

I love believing God is still speaking, still trying to connect, still trying to be a part of our lives and world and that he's politely standing on the edge of our lives offering truth, value, direction, wisdom, and whatever else it might be that we're in need of in the moment.

But as he's offering his words of hope, comfort and guidance he doesn't mimic the behavior of an over jealous coach shouting demands from the sidelines or of a General atop a tank shouting orders that must be carried out. Which, I don't know why I picture General's leading from a tank, but that's the most macho image I can come up with, so yeah, in my mind general's lead from tanks shouting battle plans.

God's not a coach shouting and spitting on the sideline, throwing clipboards and anxiously watching the play clock, nor is he a general leading an attack, decisively demanding our moves and counter moves that must be obeyed.

I picture God more as a loving gentle father leaning on a split rail fence, watching his kids in this playground called life. The sun's slowly setting and the sky be beautiful, God's already prepared an amazing meal for dinner in the huge warm house behind him. A house with a big wrap around porch, a white bench swing, a guitar in the corner waiting to be picked and no mosquitos to be found.

He's leaning on the fence, one foot propped on the lower rail, elbows resting on the top. He's watching his kids play. He see's us dance and play and chase and work. He sees us trying to figure out how to play well with the other kids, he sees us fall down, get bumped around, get dizzy on the swings and scrap our knees and wipe dust from our face.

But he's the kind of Dad who patiently waits, he's not some crazed driven helicopter parent rushing in and controlling the games and telling us who can play with who and who can't go where and who secretly lives with a low level anxiety fearing that at any moment the worst might happen.

He's not frantic, he's just calm, relaxed, enjoying watching his kids play.

But he's also not distracted. There's not an app more entertaining then his little one's, there's nothing pressing his thoughts from the moment, there's nothing more important or demanding or stressing then just standing, watching and waiting.

But as he waits, he's not silent.

He calls our names, points out sticks that might trips us up, points out which slides we may might not be ready for yet, and which kids are playing rougher then we're able to handle. He invites us to the best swings and the smoothest monkey bars, and away from the broken glass the play ground bully left behind and away from those play forts that look exhilarating but he knows is actually broken and hurtful.

He gentle points out the bully and his friends. The ones who just make a mess of things, who don't play fair, who push us down, who change the rules and cause us to get confused and frustrated. The one's who shout we're not worthy to be picked to play, or tell us we're only worthy to be included until we make a mistake and screw things up, to which they make it clearly known they'll kick us off the team without thinking twice.

I picture God gentle standing, patiently waiting, calming instructing, pointing out, inviting towards, and warning of.

Be he stands on the edge, not shouting or franticly responding but lovingly speaking. Speaking at a voice that can be heard, but heard only when we stop to listen.

When we stop and turn our face towards him, allowing our ears to focus on his voice, our eyes on his lips, and in our attention decipher over the chaos of the playground his wisdom, his love, his guidance.

That's how I picture Psalms 46:10

"Be still, and know that I am God! I will be honored by every nation. I will be honored throughout the world." 

God patiently waiting, talking, inviting.

But also knowing that the sun is setting. Dinner will soon be served and playground must be cleared.

I know that he not only is delighting in our play, speaking into our games and moves, but also watching our clocks, and when it's our time to come in and clean up for dinner comes, calls us by name, calling us home.

What's interesting is as much as he loves each one of us, as much as he wants to grab us and squeeze us tight and run to the dinner table with us on his hip, he knows the choice is ours to make, not his.

The choice is our's to listen to his guidance on how to enjoy the play ground the most.

The choice is our's to listen to his invitation to come in for dinner.

The choice is our's to let him catch a warm bubble bath and help us clean up from the bumps and bruises of the play ground.

And the choice is our's to delight with him and the family in the big house, around the big table.

But the offer to make the choice often comes only to those who are willing to be still, to look towards his face, to tune our ears to his voice and follow his lips with our eyes.

So may we all have a blast on this playground of life.

May we have grand adventures and fun. May we play till our clothes are sweaty and our hearts are racing and our faces are covered in dust and smiles.

Yes, May we truly delight in this playground called life.

But may we also slow down, and look towards dad, locking eyes and listening close.

May we heed his wisdom and love.

May we trust his encouragement and belief.

May we watch out for the bullies and broken areas he's pointing out.

And when he calls our name, may we have so learned his voice that we rush to his arms, delight in his perfecting of us, and enjoy the party that's awaiting around his big big big dinner table.

So friends, may we be still and know that God is still speaking, and he's eyes are locked on each of us, delighting and waiting to love and encourage us all the way home.