I heard a hushed voice. (Job 4:16)
Some
twenty years ago a friend gave me a book entitled True Peace. It had an old
medieval message and this one primary thought—that God was waiting in the
depths of my being to speak to me if I would only be still enough to hear His
voice.
I assumed
this would not be a difficult thing to do, so I tried to be still. No sooner
had I begun to do so than complete pandemonium seemed to break loose. Suddenly
I heard a thousand voices and sounds from without and within, until I could
hear nothing except these incredible noises. Some were my own words, my own
questions, and even my own prayers, while others were temptations of the Enemy,
and the voices of the world’s turmoil.
In every
direction I turned, I was pushed, pulled, and confronted with indescribable
unrest and overwhelming noises. I seemed compelled to listen to some of them
and to respond in some way. But God said, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps.
46:10). Then my mind was filled with worries over my responsibilities and plans
for tomorrow, and God said again, “Be still.”
As I listened and slowly learned to obey, I shut my ears to every other sound. Soon I discovered that once the other voices ceased, or once I ceased to hear them, “a gentle whisper” (1 Kings 19:12) began to speak in the depths of my being. And it spoke to me with an inexpressible tenderness, power, and comfort. This “gentle whisper” became for me the voice of prayer, wisdom, and service. No longer did I need to work so hard to think, pray, or trust, because the Holy Spirit’s “gentle whisper” in my heart was God’s prayer in the secret places of my soul. It was His answer to all my questions, and His life and strength for my soul and body. His voice became the essence of all knowledge, prayer, and blessings, for it was the living God Himself as my life and my all.
This is
precisely how our spirit drinks in the life of our risen Lord. And then we are
enabled to face life’s conflicts and responsibilities, like a flower that has
absorbed the cool and refreshing drops of dew through the darkness of the
night. Yet just as dew never falls on a stormy night, the dew of His grace
never covers a restless soul. A. B. Simpson
