Hearing the Right Voices

I'm hearing voices. When I get quiet. I'd fear the men in white coats might appear at my door, but what writer doesn't hear voices? With courage and a small measure of pride, I'd show the psyche ward orderlies my writing credits list and my membership receipt for American Christian Fiction Writers and wave them on their way.

This Voice, though, is different.

The other day, the Voice asked me, "Where ya been?"

Aww. He missed me. The Lord craved time with me and I'd been...detained.

"Where've I been?" I countered, thinking of the list of responsibilities that chained me to a treadmill of activity rather than the solitude and quiet communion I hungered after. "I've been taking care of people!"

"Yeah," the Voice said. "Me, too. You're one of them."

I didn't feel "taken care of" at the moment. Spent. Fried. Frazzled.

But He doesn't lie.

"Well," I said, shaking off the truth and pulling on my suffocating coat of burdens, "maybe YOU can run the universe and still take care of people, but--"

Was that thunder I heard? No. A still, small, but very intense Voice that said, "Maybe? Maybe I can?"

Oh. Right.

The Voice didn't have to keep talking. I stopped. End of story.

DIVING BOARD MOMENT FOR PLUNGING DEEPER: How much of God's comfort for me goes to waste because I failed to show up at the distribution center?