How God Speaks and What He is Saying

I don’t know how God speaks to you. Maybe it is in an audible voice that sounds a lot like Morgan Freeman.  If that is how He does it, cool!  I am a little envious, maybe even jealous, because that is not how He speaks to me. I take consolation in the fact I do not think I am alone in this.

I hear God in a totally different way.  Often I hear God’s voice most clearly when something starts to pop up in multiple places.  The repetition causes me take notice and I begin to wonder if God is trying to tell me something.  I watch and listen.  I open my heart to what He may be trying to teach me.  If it shows up again, I start to believe He is speaking to me.  It is more of a process than a point in time. 

Sometimes, I wonder if my Heavenly Father doesn’t get frustrated with the fact He has to tell me something multiple times before I get it.  Mostly, however, I just consider His willingness to bring something up in several differ ways, in a short period of time, as an expression of His loving kindness. The reoccurrence of what I am seeing or hearing allows two things; it allows me to hear clearly, and it helps grow my confidence that God is involved in what I am discovering.  Both are essential if I am going to take what I am discerning and act upon it as an expression of God’s voice.

While it might be a lot quicker for God to speak out loud to me, how He has chosen to go about speaking to me is in fact, a good thing.  It forces me to be attentive, willing to wait and in constant dialogue with God about what I am hearing.  In the long run, I think this does more to develop intimacy with God than a regular audible voice simply telling me what I need to do next would be capable of doing.  This is a gift.

I share all this because the concept of “Yips” has been showing up in various places this week, and it makes me wonder what God might want to say.  Yips are involuntary muscle spasms which may cause an athlete to be unable to perform an action which they have previously been able to perform in their sleep.  Golfers, who have sunk short putts thousands of times, suddenly cannot sink one to save their life.  Second basemen, who have won Gold Gloves, suddenly cannot throw a ball and hit the side of a barn. 

While Yips manifest themselves physically, most people suspect the yips are related to stress and feelings of anxiety.  Maybe the pressure to perform builds up over time and one day shows up in the involuntary muscle spasms which prevent the person from continuing to perform what has previously been second nature.

Yips can affect athletes in every sport, and I have a sneaky suspicion it can spill over into other areas of our lives as well.  Can you think of any area where stress and anxiety causes people to freeze up and fail to execute something that seems so easy?

Twice this week I heard people describing the symptoms of Yips (even if they had no clue what they were describing had a name) and correlating it to the pressure of being watched, evaluated, and judged.  The anxiety and stress of the pressure to perform, or better yet the pressure to not mess up, prevented them from performing what they normally could do with great skill.  Needless to say, it is quite frustrating and can feel debilitating.

It made me wonder, in our highly competitive culture, where most everyone feels they do not quite measure up or find themselves somehow affected by the fear failure, what effect would being an encouragement to everyone you meet have?  In speaking words of belief and support to people, could you actually reduce their stress and anxiety enough to prevent the onset of  Yips?  Could an environment of blessings and acceptance release people from the psychological effects of fear and doubt, and allow them to step into the fullness of what they were created to accomplish? 

These are questions worth thinking about. More importantly, they are questions worth doing something about.

When I think I hear God speaking to me through circumstances, I always filter what I am hearing through what He has clearly spoken through His word.  In 1 Thessalonians 5:11 we are instructed to, “Encourage one another and build each other up.” Similar instructions are given elsewhere in Scripture as well (2 Cor. 13:11, Hebrews 3:13).  The intent is always the same; we are to encourage one another in order that we can empower one another to live the life we were intended to live.

What I have been hearing is consistent with what Scripture reveals about how we are to relate to one another, and the power our encouragement can have in the lives of others.  It is always a good thing when you go around saying, “God told me”.  It instills confidence in taking action on what you have heard.

This confidence has caused me to keep my eyes open for something else besides other evidences of God’s clear communication.  I have started looking for those who may be showing signs of anxiety and stress, and I have been asking God to give me words of encouragement which may help to alleviate some the pressure.  My hope would be that my words would be an invitation to walk in the freedom of a much easier yoke. I believe it could be powerful, mainly because I believe God has been speaking it, and He is never wrong.

 It is kind of exciting to tell you the truth.

If you are looking for a little excitement, maybe you could join me in looking for such opportunities and in speaking such words, and in the process we could help to prevent the Yips.  

Loss, Grief and Trumpet Shaped Flowers

Recently, I heard of the death of a friend from college. I had not spoken with her since 1986, so I was surprised how hard it hit me. I would have expected sadness to accompany the news, but I would not have imagined it stirring up the amount of grief I have felt. Honestly, I have been blindsided by it.

Given the intensity of what I have been feeling, I have been wondering if the news of this friend’s death is pressing on something deeper. Because of this, I have resisted the temptation to avoid the sadness and I have kept myself from numbing it. When the sadness comes, I have allowed myself to feel it, and be with God in it.  I have been asking Him to not only be with me, but help me see the deeper place this loss it is touching.

Several thoughts have surfaced. Last year alone, I lost my father, stepsister, and spiritual mentor. If you were to stretch time back a few more years, there are many more people our family has lost. Two hands would not be enough to count them all. Maybe, the news of this friend’s death is simply helping me embrace the reality of the many losses we have had. Even though I have sought to walk through each loss as it came, I cannot deny that as the losses have mounted up, grief seems to have multiplied. My reaction to this friend’s death invites me to acknowledge this reality.

I have also wondered if the fact that the news of my friend’s death has come in this particular season has anything to do with the intensity of how it has impacted me. We are all walking through a season of many losses. So much has been taken from us because of the pandemic that infects our world. We have been uprooted from our normal rhythms of life. Work has been disrupted, schools have been closed, and our places of community have been shut down. When we do leave our homes, we do not feel as safe as we once did. We know people who have fallen ill, and maybe some who have died. It has been a season of loss upon loss.

In the midst of it all, we are being asked to keep our distance from the very people, places and communities that help us to bear up in hard seasons like this one. The ballast stones which help to keep our ships upright in such storms are not easily accessible. We are being asked to socially distance at the very moment we need one another most.

Even so, we do our best to hold on to what we are able. One rhythm that helps me to endure is walking. Today, I was walking with a friend in the local nature center, talking about all these things, and sharing how odd it seems to feel so deeply at the loss of someone I have not seen in 34 years. It was helpful to speak these things out loud. I needed to put my thoughts and feelings into words.

Just about the time I had exhausted all my words, we came to a place where we had paused to take a photo earlier in the spring. At that time, there was a plant in that spot with large dark green leaves with veins running through them. It had trumpet shaped white flowers that were turned heavenward. The contrast of the deep green and white caught our eyes. We stopped to allow the beauty of it soak in. I wanted to remember it, so I snapped a photo.

Now, standing in that same place, with no more words to speak, we beheld the same plant. It had drastically changed. It now incarnated exactly what I have been feeling. The flowers were gone. The leaves had withered, died and blown away. All that was left were the shriveled, dried stems of a plant that was once full of life. It was barren and dead. I did not need any more words, because this image contained them all.

We paused for a few moments, not saying much except to acknowledge, given our conversation, how appropriate seeing this plant felt. In Spring, we admired its beauty, now we were pausing to behold its death. This moment seems more significant than the first, so I took another photo. I wanted to be able to see them side by side. I wanted to be able to hold both life and death together.

I did not tell my walking partner, but the reality is I know this plant, not just from earlier in the year, or the connection I felt to it today, as it mirrored what I have been feeling. I know this plant because I have walked this nature trail for many years, and I have noticed its beauty during many springs. While it appears dead right now. I already know, a time will come when I will once again marvel at its broad green leaves and trumpet shaped flowers. This death, this dormancy, will once again give birth to life.

This thought filled my mind as we continued to walk. It helped me to hold my grief. Death and loss are hard. But death is not the end. Resurrection follows death. I am as confident of this truth as I am of the fact that I will see that plant flower again next spring. I know it in my deep.

When there is a loss, I need to allow my heart to acknowledge and feel the pain brought about by life giving way to death. But I also need to open my heart to the reality that death will one day give way to life. I have to train my heart to hold both realities. I need to see both pictures clearly in mind. Doing so gives me the capacity to hope, even in the midst of the pain of loss. 

Holding on to such hope is the only way I know to keep walking forward.

Letters from the Past

The angst of being stuck at home during Covid has manifested itself in the desire to sift through every closet and box in the house, purging all that is not needed. Maybe, you have had the same impulse.

This weekend I turned my attention to a trunk that has been stored in the garage for the past 26 years. It contained the letters and keepsakes Tammie and I brought into our marriage. Before I opened it, I would have bet that most of what it contained belonged to Tammie.  I would have lost money. As I began to pull the papers and trinkets from the trunk, I was surprised to find two thirds of the contents were mine.

Most of what I had kept were cards and letters. Many of the letters were from my first few years of college. Since we did not have texting or instant messaging, if you wanted to communicate, and did not want to run up your long-distance phone bill, you wrote a letter. The beauty of words written on paper is that they can be saved and rediscovered. What I discovered in reading these letters was what a treasure they are.

In particular, the letters from a person named Ginny were quite impactful. While I was navigating my first year of college away from home, she encouraged my faith, gave me sage advice on how to succeed at school and coached me on integrating into a new community. Several of the insights she shared in her letters were so internalized that I have heard myself offer them to others over the years, never remembering where they came from. Now I have been reminded. They came from Ginny.

Ginny only sent me four letters and never signed her last name. She is something of a mystery woman. While I know how we were connected, because of the content of the letters, I am struggling to remember exactly who she was. I have reached out to others who might be able to identify her. As of yet, they have not been able to help.

What she shares lets me know she is older than me. Her letters were written in the voice of a big sister, looking out for her little brother, encouraging his life of faith and affirming who he is. They are empowering letters that helped me find my footing in a new place. Such is the power of the gift of time it takes to write a letter, and the thoughtfulness that goes into composing it.

Eventually, Tammie joined me and started digging through her part of the pile. As we sorted, we would read sections of the letters out loud to one another. We were delighted to discover that most of the cards and notes were a lot like Ginny’s. They were from friends who were encouraging our spiritual growth and affirming who they knew us to be. The letters reminded us how intentional those relationships were in encouraging our life of faith and faithfulness.

As we reflected with one another on the goodness contained on those aged pieces of paper, we thought about how fortunate we were to be surrounded by these people as we were transitioning into adulthood. We were part of a community that was serious about rooting our hearts in the love of Christ and spurring one another on towards love and good deeds. Our lives are different because of it. We can clearly see how God used these people, and their words, to help build a foundation that has sustained us.

These letters are a reminder of just how important the people you surround yourself are and how impactful their words can be. It also encourages me to be mindful of the power of my own presence and words. I want to be the kind of person these people were to us.

I hope that one day, someone would be digging through their mementos and would find a few letters and notes I have written to them. I desire that as they pulled them out of the envelope, they would discover again words affirming who they are, and encouraging their life of faith. It would be wonderful if they were able to recognize how God used those words to help them see themselves and Him more clearly. I pray that knowledge would have helped to build a foundation in their lives. I am confident this could happen.  I have the evidence in the letters I rediscovered on Saturday.