Radio Signals
Sometimes when we slow down, when we stoop down low and put our ear to the ground, we hear things we did not expect. Sometimes the things we hear are quiet and not as beautiful and we had imagined, even downright confusing and nonsensical.
But we can hear them, distinguish them, all the same.
Sometimes I go home to Spring Hill, and I spend Sunday afternoons on rocky dirt trails, and I walk around in the old cemetery I used to visit as a kid. It is a weird feeling to get away from the city, from the places I go and the things I do, because it puts spaces in the minutes of a day. Suddenly I don't need more hours; I need exactly 24, and there are blank white spaces within them into which I can draw things.
And there is something in us - I think it's our soul - that responds to the things we hear this way. When we take time to listen to the river, to be alive in the woods, to notice how the wind blows the empty branches. I find sometimes I go through life all in my head, and when I need to hear something I use my head, and I forget to put my ear to the ground at all. And sometimes I notice how I'm not getting anywhere, and I'm running in circles, recycling the things I know I heard before.
I'm in the city today, in my normal routine, and yet I put my ear to the ground and heard some things. I noticed God often shows up like tiny diamonds in this dirt season, like little slivers of brilliant light coming through a window when the blinds are closed. He shows himself best in the smallest things, asking me to be ready to listen.
Sometimes I think God is constantly sending us every possible invitation to life imaginable, simultaneously, and as we go through life we tune into certain ones at different times, like radio signals.
But we can hear them, distinguish them, all the same.
Sometimes I go home to Spring Hill, and I spend Sunday afternoons on rocky dirt trails, and I walk around in the old cemetery I used to visit as a kid. It is a weird feeling to get away from the city, from the places I go and the things I do, because it puts spaces in the minutes of a day. Suddenly I don't need more hours; I need exactly 24, and there are blank white spaces within them into which I can draw things.
And there is something in us - I think it's our soul - that responds to the things we hear this way. When we take time to listen to the river, to be alive in the woods, to notice how the wind blows the empty branches. I find sometimes I go through life all in my head, and when I need to hear something I use my head, and I forget to put my ear to the ground at all. And sometimes I notice how I'm not getting anywhere, and I'm running in circles, recycling the things I know I heard before.
I'm in the city today, in my normal routine, and yet I put my ear to the ground and heard some things. I noticed God often shows up like tiny diamonds in this dirt season, like little slivers of brilliant light coming through a window when the blinds are closed. He shows himself best in the smallest things, asking me to be ready to listen.
Sometimes I think God is constantly sending us every possible invitation to life imaginable, simultaneously, and as we go through life we tune into certain ones at different times, like radio signals.
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