Our Lab isn’t much of a talker. As a puppy, days would pass between barks. Early on I thought we might have a pup like the main character Gyp in James Herriot’s children’s book “Only One Woof.” Gradually, Adi developed her voice. Only she uses it sparingly. She much prefers to communicate with her eyes, ears, paws, tail, and proximity. She saves her deep, resonating, singular “woof” for important moments like announcing the arrival of someone on our doorstep or to invite our cat or a canine to play.
One morning as I sat outside watching the sun rise and enjoying my Adi-girl’s quiet companionship, I began to wonder why I don’t welcome the Lord’s silence like I do my lab’s. Truth be told I would love if He thundered answers from the mountain tops or painted solutions to life’s problems across the sky. But would I really?
Because of Adi’s quiet nature, I’ve learned the necessity of silencing myself, so I can watch her closely and discern what she is trying to communicate. As a result, I have a much deeper understanding of her and we share a richer bond.
Isn’t the same true with the Lord. He chooses to communicate with a “gentle whisper” rather than a roaring wind, an eye-catching fire, or a shuddering earthquake (1 Kings 19: 11- 13). Thus, I must step away from the world’s noise and enter His silence. Only when I quiet myself with an ear to listen, eyes to see, and heart to obey as I sit in His creation and read His Word do I really understand and know Him.
“Be still and know that I am God.” -Psalm 46:10
© 2019, Lessons from a Lab, Beth Alisan. All Rights Reserved.