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  • Writer's pictureMeredith

God's voice in the silence

In a world full of too much noise and far too much chaos, there is little space left to find quiet.

In a time when the world lies dormant until our fingertip swipes and our Google searches pop millions of responses from millions of voices, there is little thought for rest.

In a place where virtual and physical words are tossed out freely and oftentimes without compassion given the ears of the listener or the shoulders that grow burdened with verbage, there is little care for peace.

Life so easily swoops in and overwhelms us.  Maybe it’s the noise that batters eardrums with staccatos of abuse and anger.  Maybe it’s the fear that smothers hope’s smoldering embers in the firestorms.  Maybe it’s the ceaseless streams of challenges and troubles that plague us even on the best of days…

Leaving us sometimes feeling like dried up husks with little left to pour out for others, stripping us of emotions and love to offer of ourselves freely and willingly, unaware that God’s grace and love is perpetually present, filling and refilling our busted up vessels, dripping over and onto others as He uses our shattered hulls for His glory.

Hiding in the shadows, afraid to be vulnerable and broken, unsure if God’s fingers can mend the deepest of woes and if God’s shoulders can bear the weights we fasten around our ankles to drag along daily.

Shaking and bruised by the world of which we so desperately long to be a part, and yet are more often called to rise above, to depend upon God’s hands of mercy and forgiveness that are scrawled with our very names, written out like the stars He twinkled in the sky.

But, regardless of what rubs us raw and discards us, we crawl to the edge of the precipice and left with choices… to abandon the Father who formed us and perhaps is using even our most discouraging and disparaging of situations as lights for others to see Him shining through… to drift away from the Lord who longs for us to relinquish our burdens into His unbelievably capable hands to allow Him to unfurl the onion peels of pain and heartache and loss with healing and love that only He can provide… or to draw nearest and cling hungriest to the robes of He whose mere breath can move mountains and whose touch can topple boundaries and whose heart bleeds communion and resurrection blood in offering to prove the depth of His agape love…

When did we forget that it all began in silence?

When did we abandon the voice of the One who spoke darkness into light, Heavens into glory, Earth into grandeur?

When did we ignore the hands of He who formed inmost beings of all His creatures, molded in dignity and love?

When did we neglect the walk of His feet that trod beauty and grace into existence, setting forth mysterious and majestic paths to be stepped alongside?

When did we disdain the offering of the Baby, born vulnerable and tiny in refuge and filth, born for peace?

When did we scorn the sacrifice of this Lamb, nailed viciously, hung savagely, given willingly?

When did we forget His life between birth and death, rationed out abundantly in intimate and infinite portions for all?

It was then that it was easier to turn away in hurt and pain and suffering…

To think that the God of Love must not be loving if He ended breath too early for loved ones. To think that the God of Hope must not offer hope if He allows illness to rob health.  To think that the God of Light must not be shining in our darknesses if He moves in ways more confusing and mysterious than we could ever have pictured.

But what if there is more to the story than just what seems to be an ending.

What if God’s silence in our heartaching pleas for help isn’t silence at all?

What if He is speaking volumes through our brokenness, using us as His busted up vessels, pouring us out for a weary, battered world?

What if we miss being a part of His intimate, infinite love story because we pulled away from Him? Because we didn’t want to let His hands mend and mold in ways only He can?

What if God has more to write, and He is using you as His ink and quill, for His very own love story?

What greater place could we ask to be in, than to be used by God the Father, God the Son, God the Spirit, in all things for His greater glory, that we may be examples of His Love and co-authors of His Story?

- Previously published on These Humbled Hearts, Meredith's former blog


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