A Still, Small Voice

It’s a marketplace out there.
All uproar and noise and jostling around-
Everybody loves to hear his own voice
Climb the rooftops to show off his treasures
I can lose myself in all this din and confusion.
Become one with the madding crowd.

Yet…there’s a still, small voice
That keeps whispering in my inner depths
Pulling me as I gorge on empty pursuits.
Calling out in the night
In the darkness…in desolation and frustration -
Compelling me to pause …to rest awhile.

It must be You, Lord.
Your voice who wakes my heart.
When I am unmoving or uncaring.
I am stone – impervious to the pain around me.
Blind to the look of hunger in a child’s eyes.
A street beggar’s imploring outstretched palm.

I cover my ears to that sound
Now with a sense of urgency.
I pretend it’s not really You .
So I can wander far into the world
. Venture into forbidden orchards
Tasting all fruits –

But You are a persistent caller.
In my nightmares Your voice reassures me.
It does not matter if I have been obstinate
Refusing to listen, not heeding
To that still, small voice –
You are ever at my side… waiting…

Your voice is still no longer.
It changes into the tapping of steady rain
The ocean’s roar at high tide
Thunderclaps and lightning in the storm
Insistent. Gripping me tightly.
How can I go on playing deaf?

Oh final sweet surrender.
That You may live in me
And I in You, my Master.
That I may always listen to You.
Keep in step to Your voice –
Sounds of music to my soul.

-----------------------© Jotte: June 29, 1999

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