Whispers

Decades ago in a church, a brown-haired, only slightly-known
matriarch whispered warnings in a hallway. Warnings whispered into young
twenty-something ears. They went unheeded and life changed. Unfolded, dramatic
and different; but still… good. God, in gentle kindness, wrought beauty.

                                                       ——————————-

In a second season of my life, the Creator leaned low and
uttered warnings. Woven into ancient Persian script, and traced across Bible
study pages minted years earlier, he talked to me. 

He waited. 

Leaning low again, he mouthed words through a bearded pastor
at a podium, and from bouncy youth speakers at camp. 

He waited. 

Then, for my own good, he jumped into action. 

                                                        —————————–

Obedience, often so easy –usually so easy!– comes harder
some days. My Abba asks the first time, reminds gently a second, and then has
to step in as a consistency-loving-Dad must do. 

Eyes downcast, quiet, I listen, reap the circumstances he
had been trying to save me from, and wait silently for time to pass. Tenderly,
gently, he cups my chin, pulling eyes up. 

He speaks of unfathomable love, of deep forgiveness and
faithfulness, of a wooing Creator’s heart that chases after and loves unchangingly.

Settle with me into this place, friend. A place of being
chased after by God, and pursued. 

Linking with Imperfect Prose, and Scribing the Journey. 

Photo credit.