The nights and mornings have turned cold. We’ve retired our ceiling fan for the season, but we let a little stand fan run pointed at a wall that it may drown out the sounds of barking dogs. Our headboard lies against a large single-paned window. Across our driveway and outside our gate lies a small Hindu temple. The bells starting ringing a few minutes before 5 a.m. each morning. The ceiling fan drowned it out all summer so its significance feels new to me as the peals break the through the crisp morning air and past my unfortunately thin window panes. These attempts to wake sleeping gods and gain favor or riches are all vain — they only wake up light sleepers like me. Each time I hear the bells ring, I have an opportunity to pray that the souls that stoop before idols would one day bow before the living God.
I also have an opportunity to express thankfulness for our living God. I don’t have to ring bells or blow into seashells to get God’s attention. His eyes are ever watching me, and the Holy Spirit is deciphering every sigh of my heart in communication with the Father. He is actively seeking me, vying to capture my heart and drawing me into intimacy with Him. Not a moment of my little life goes unseen by Him and not a detail of my days are missed. In contrast with the idolatry I witness every day, I appreciate the vastness of this gift.
But not only does He hear and see me — He speaks to me. God invites me into community through the local church and speaks to a gathered body through the exposition of His word. Beyond that, every time I open my Bible I can hear His voice. The words held within have been preserved for me. As I give my attention to its truths, the Holy Spirit works within me to grant understanding and truly help me hear the voice of God.
As my daily duties pull me away from corporate worship and quiet time, I can still hear the voice of God. I can speak with Him when I am folding laundry or walking to the fruit shop, and I can expect to hear from Him as I do. The Spirit brings discovered truths from communal worship and personal Bible study and plants it as new on my heart.
I’ll never forget that when we lost our son Ezra, and I couldn’t bring myself to open my Bible that God still spoke to me. I daily heard His voice even though though words from the pulpit were drowned out by louder voices of grief and guilt. The Spirit brought years of Sunday school lessons and simple learned truths before me every single day of that grieving period. He heard my unintelligible groans, and I heard His loving assurance each and every day.
At the same time my heart breaks for those just outside my gate who have no such experience, I am thankful that I have been introduced to a God who hears me, sees me, and speaks to me every moment of every day.
I “make” God big in my life when I remain thankful for His care in my life and remain perceptive to His voice as He exercises authority in it.
What is sweetest to you about serving a living God?
Talk to me in the comment section below!