A Missed Opportunity

Last week I shared a lesson I had learned long ago about The Silence of God. Today, I want to share another experience in which I learned about listening to God. This one fills me with shame, because I left this moment in time with an incredibly deep sense of regret and missed opportunity.

But first, I want to share a story from Scripture about a man named Elijah. Elijah was a prophet of God in the Old Testament who had the privilege of very publicly proving the power and majesty of God to the Israelites at a time when most had turned away from Him. As an unfortunate result, Elijah angered a few key enemies and had to run for his life. He fell into a deep depression (isn’t it interesting how our highest times are often followed by our lowest?), and an angel of the Lord came to comfort him and strengthen him. (Read the full story in 1 Kings 18-19.)

As Elijah was dwelling in a cave at the mountain of God, the “word of the Lord came to him.” And God simply asked him a question: “What are you doing here, Elijah?” Elijah replied by stating the facts that were currently assaulting him: “I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected Your covenant, broken down Your altars, and put Your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me.” And God simply replied, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”

The story continues, “Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.”

I can’t imagine being in Elijah’s shoes. The fear, the awe, the unexpected ending – Elijah had experienced a holy moment.

In the same way (except much less powerful, scary, and awe-inspiring), I can recall a very specific time when I had the opportunity to experience the still, small, gentle whisper of God.

Several years ago, my mother-in-law went to Colorado to take care of my nieces and nephew while my sister-in-law and brother-in-law went on a much-needed vacation. Because I knew these beautiful, amazing, very energetic children would be a bit of a handful for one person, I offered to come along and help as well. It was a great opportunity to spend some time in my favorite place, as well as with some of my favorite people.

One afternoon when the younger two kids were taking a nap and the oldest was in school, my mother-in-law (who knows me well) suggested that I take advantage of a few free hours to go enjoy a hike in the mountains. I readily agreed, grabbed my backpack, and headed off to a trail I’d been wanting to hike for a while. I knew I’d be cutting it close – I had to be back in time to pick up my niece from school, and it was about a thirty-minute drive between the trailhead and my sister-in-law’s neighborhood. But I was pretty sure I could make it happen.

I made it to the trailhead in great time, and started to hike my way up the mountain. It was beautiful, as expected. At one place there was a great overlook, so I spent a few minutes there, enjoying the gorgeous views and the blowing wind. Then I kept going, keeping a close eye on the time and the trails app I had on my phone, making sure I’d have enough time to make it to the top. I knew it would take a lot less time to hike back down the mountain, but I was definitely starting to cut it close. But I REALLY wanted to make the summit, so I picked up my pace and pushed myself as hard as I dared. Finally, I made it to the top, and I allotted myself a few minutes to enjoy the view, climb around, and take some pictures. I kept looking at the time, and it was incredibly windy, which only added to the frantic feeling I was experiencing. I really didn’t want to be late picking up my niece, so I hurried away from the summit pretty quickly.

Oddly enough, as I was turning to go, the wind stopped. It had been windy for most of my hike, especially at the summit. But suddenly there was complete and total stillness. There was no one else around – I had seen no one else on the trail all afternoon. I was alone, on the top of a mountain, and it was completely still and silent.

And like the idiot I am at times, I turned away, walked down the mountain, and completely missed a uniquely holy moment.

Within a few minutes I regretted that I hadn’t stayed where I was, removed my shoes, and spent some time in worship. I had been so worried about the time, my obligation to my niece and my mother-in-law, and never letting anyone down, that I had let those concerns trump my deeper need for communion with my Savior. I didn’t trust that He could have cared for those small concerns. I even had a way out – my mother-in-law had assured me that if I was running late that she’d pick up my niece. But I had created too many habits of control and independence over the years that I couldn’t change my plans to accommodate an unexpected opportunity that had arisen.

Once that first twinge of regret came, I could have turned around. But part of me was certain the opportunity was already lost – and the other part of me was still a slave to my need to DO ALL THE THINGS. I had squeezed every minute out of this free afternoon that I could, and there wasn’t any margin for changed plans and quiet moments with God. Honestly, the whole situation was quite parallel to the way I was living my life in that season – running on empty, maximizing each minute in my day so that every box on my to-do list could be checked off – with no space for the unexpected.

As I processed that experience over the coming days, I regretted more and more my decision to ignore that still, small voice of God. Even now, I’m quite convinced that I missed something incredibly important, and I wish I could go back and change things. But one thing is sure – I learned an important lesson in listening to God. I learned that I have to let go of my agenda, and be ready to follow His. Yes, my obligations are important. Yes, I need to live a life of action and not sloth. But I also need to be ready to drop my schedule and my to-do list, and sit at His throne when He calls. If I do not, I will miss some of the most important things in life.

The beauty of the story of Elijah is that immediately after Elijah heard the gentle whisper — the still small voice of God — he still didn’t quite get it. God asked Elijah the question He’d asked him before, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” And Elijah had the EXACT. SAME. RESPONSE. He’d just experienced the presence of God in a mighty yet gentle way, but still He struggled with the circumstances of his life. He had a physical response to the voice of God, but the reality was that he was still struggling. His life was still in danger; he still felt discouraged and alone.

But God did not shake His fist at Elijah in anger. Instead, He showed the love and grace that we know stems from His very heart. He told Elijah where to go and what to do next. He gave him the path forward for a new king and a new friend to come alongside him in his ministry. And he reassured him that no matter how alone he felt, God still had many of His people who had not yet given into the way of the world.

To me, this speaks volumes for the way God relates to us in our missed opportunities. He gives us these beautiful moments to see Him in a new way, yet sometimes we’re so distracted by the “stuff of life” or the heartache we’re trying to heal from that we miss the very source of healing that Jesus offers. And instead of berating us or giving up on us, He sees our pain and our misdirection, and He gently pushes us forward and reassures us in a new way.

My heart still breaks that I missed a holy moment with my King. And I know that I’ll never get that particular opportunity back on this side of heaven. But in his infinite grace, God has provided other holy moments. And though you can be sure I will still fail many times, my eyes are now open wider than they were before and my life is being lived at a much slower pace. I now have margin so I have less of those missed opportunities. I pray the same for you.

The Silence of God

Last weekend I had the opportunity to spend some time with my sister and nieces at a beautiful cabin in the Colorado mountains. We had a great time laughing, hiking, resting, and playing together. As a bonus, I also got to spend a little time with my sister-in-law, her husband, and my other nieces and nephew. The time with family was refreshing.

Even beyond family, though, there is something about being in the mountains that always feels like coming home to me. Despite many prayers over the years, God has never said “yes” to us moving to Colorado. In many ways, I’m really ok with that – I love our home, our community, and our village of friends. It would be very hard to move away from that. But a big chunk of my heart is in Colorado, and some of my deepest moments of growth have happened in the shadow of a mountain.

That’s why this past weekend, on Sunday morning, I hiked up the mountain behind the cabin to worship and spend some time alone with Jesus. While there, I was again reminded of some important lessons I’ve learned through my experiences with God in the mountains – experiences that have directly shaped the intimacy I have with Jesus. And intimacy with Jesus is not a phrase I use lightly. Through my deepest struggles over the years, especially with depression, that closeness with Jesus has been what has pulled me through. It has been an anchor that has held me to the Truth, even when my heart, mind, and body were overwhelmed with sorrow and struggle.

So I want to share these experiences with you. Perhaps you desire to seek God out, and if so, I pray you’ll bear these things I’ve learned in mind. However, if you have to learn them on your own, I understand that too. The lessons we learn for ourselves are often the hardest, but they stick the strongest. But I will still share my stories here, because I want to bear witness to the things God has taught me.

First let me say, however, that in all the things I’ve learned and heard from God over the years, Scripture has been the truest and most reliable way for me to hear Him speak. Consistent time in His Word has filled me and reminded me of the truth of who Christ is. It’s stretched me and challenged me, given me comfort and peace. It’s been the measuring rod of truth for every emotion and conviction I’ve had. Any time I believe I’ve heard God speak, I’ve measured it against the truth of Scripture because I know that my thoughts are fleeting and my heart is easily swayed. Scripture is an anchor for me.

All that being said, I want to share with you three stories of times I learned very important lessons on the topic of listening to God. I don’t think I’ll include them all in this specific post – that would take too much time. But today I want to get started with a time I learned about the silence of God.

Many years ago, before Josh and I had kids (so maybe 17, 18 years ago?), I was at a bit of a low place in my relationship with God. I don’t remember specifically what was going on, though based on the timing I’m guessing our struggle with infertility was part of it. I mostly remember feeling almost compelled to go and spend time with God in the mountains. In my arrogance, I thought that if I spent some time and money to “go be with God,” that He would be so honored by my efforts that He would show up and speak to me. I was certain that my time with Him would lead to clear direction for my future and lots of warm fuzzies. 😊

So I went to Estes Park, and spent several days hiking, reading, and praying. In many ways I absolutely loved it. It was restful and peaceful. Rocky Mountain National Park is one of my favorite places on the planet, and I loved hiking the trails and being in nature. But the reality was, that despite all the time I had poured into God, I truly felt that He was silent. He hadn’t shown up. He didn’t speak to me. He was there, I suppose, but there was no “aha” moment or deep life-changing word from God. I felt that He had held back from me what I had been seeking.

On my drive back home through Western Kansas, I became increasingly discouraged and angry. And I laid out my hurt before God. I told Him that I didn’t understand why He had been silent. I had put myself out there. I had invested money and time in order to hear Him and spend time with Him, and it felt like He had barely shown up. I told Him that if that’s the kind of God He is, that won’t show up when I put effort into spending time with Him, then I wasn’t sure that He was a God that I wanted a part of. His silence had been painful, it had hurt, and it led me to doubt His love for me.

I fully believe that God can handle it when we rail against Him. He wants us to be honest, and He’s big enough to handle our doubts, our complaints, and even our arrogance. But that doesn’t mean that He won’t put us in our place when the situation requires it. And as I laid out my case against Him, that is exactly what God did.

As I was about an hour away from home, I could see a thunderstorm forming in front of me. At this point, I had pretty much decided that my relationship with God was going to have some big changes. I couldn’t trust Him anymore. I couldn’t give my life to a Being who didn’t show up when I showed up. But as I drove into the thunderstorm, in the final leg of my trip, about as far away from the mountains as I could get, I finally began to hear God speak.

The thunderstorm was vicious. It was loud. There was incredible wind, blinding rain, large hail, and thunder and lightning that pounded the sky. I quickly pulled over – there was no way to drive through this. And as I sat there, a tiny insignificant creature at the mercy of a simple Kansas thunderstorm, I clearly heard God say, “Yes, I am here. I have always been here. But I am mighty. I am powerful. And I will speak when I want to speak, and I will be silent when I want to be silent.”

And then, as the storm moved away, a double rainbow filled the sky, touching the ground on both sides of the interstate. This wasn’t the setting I had imagined God would use to speak to me, but perhaps because it was so out of place is why I remember it so clearly. And in the rainbow I heard the promise from God that He would always be with me. That He loves me with an everlasting love. That despite my arrogance and my desire to set up the perfect way for Him to speak to me, He alone is God. I am not. He may be silent at times, but the promise that He is there is always true. He is worthy of my life, my praise, and my submission to His leading in my life. I can trust His power in my life as much as I can trust His love. No, He didn’t speak in the way I’d hoped. No, He didn’t give me a clear and definite path forward – at least not in the way I’d expected. Instead, He showed up in His time and in His way and reminded me that in the midst of the silence and in the midst of the storm, He is there, and He is mighty beyond my understanding.

And that is what I needed to hear from Him the most.

For Part 2 in Lessons in Listening, click HERE.