Lord, why do You not speak to me like You did to Abraham? I want to see Your redemptive provision like You gave him at the altar.
I want to hear Your thundering voice like Moses did on Mt. Sinai when You wrote down the laws for mankind. I want my face to shine like his after leaving Your holy presence.
Where is Your voice that called to Samuel in the night and gave Him a special message? I want to hear You in the midnight hours, too, Lord.
Why can You not speak to me like You did to Elijah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel?
Where is the glorious message like the one You gave to the shepherds on the hillside, astounding and amazing as it was?
I want to hear Your command like You gave at the tomb of Lazarus when You defeated the enemy of death. Where is the Voice I long to hear?
Why do You not speak as You did to Peter, James, and John when Your voice echoed over the mountainside, saying, “This is My beloved Son?”
I long to hear the Voice of many waters from my Savior sitting at the Father’s right hand. Where is Your message, Your command, and the sound of Your thundering words from the portals of heaven?
I’ve been here, My child. But you haven’t taken the time to listen.
I will not compete with busy schedules, loud music, blaring media, and all the self-helps you can buy. I only give commands through one Book, and it’s sitting on your shelf.
I’ve been here, My child. You have just listened in all the wrong places.
I am the whisper in the wind, the breath of a newborn babe, and the stillness in your soul. The quiet, falling snow, the kiss of a little child, and the tear of a repentant soul.
This is how I speak.
I am that small, quiet Voice you hear when you feel the tug of guilt and shame. My whispers speak of mercy, forgiveness, and restoration.
So I’ve been here, My child. And this is how you can hear Me . . . . .
You must first be still and listen.