When the out-of-town relatives would visit my family, anyone under the age of 25 was assigned special seating arrangements at dinner time at the famous “kiddie” table. I always thought there was some kind of covert family operation going at the “grown-up” table. The raised eyebrows, pursed lips, the head-cock, and the occasional glance at the kiddie table, were all evidence that something interesting was being said, something far too interesting for the kids to hear. Listening intently brought some success to my endeavours, but on occasion, I had to resort to more drastic measures.
Everybody knows that the dinner time conversation only gets better somewhere between the kid’s bedtime and the first cognac. As luck would have it, there was an air vent on the floor beside my bed. I spent many crawling beneath my blankets with the side of my face looking as if my face had been pressed in a waffle iron. Listening intently doesn’t begin to describe the efforts I made to hear every single word that was uttered. It was only a matter of time. . . and I had faith that my persistence would be rewarded.
The years have passed and it seems that my hearing has dulled, not so much in the natural sense as in the spiritual sense. I look back at those days gone by and think of the effort and patience I put in to listening and I ask myself, what’s happened? Why is it, when I wait for God to speak, I give up so easily; I fill those silent moments with the sound of my own voice – babbling on. Why don’t I wait until I have waffle iron face? Where’s my faith? Where’s my persistence? You’ll excuse me won’t you? I have some listening to do and it might take a while.
“Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know,” Jer. 33:3 NIV.
