It’s Monday. It’s the most wonderfully dreary day we’ve had thus fall, and I’ve somehow managed to shift my gaze from Christ onto myself. I’m getting ready for work, and spiraling further and further into a generally foul mindset. I whine to my Father about the same aspect of myself that I can’t seem to swallow, and He asks me what my purpose is, “It’s to bring You glory….”
“Are you doing that?”
Good point.
I’ve been mulling the enormity of discipleship in my head all day. It itches me—highlights my shyness to commitment. Yes, I love Jesus; no, I can’t imagine life without Him; yes, I want Him to be in control of my life, but I’m scared. I’m for sure working out my salvation with fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12). The more I encounter the presence of God—the more the awesomeness of the King of Kings administering justice from the throne room becomes a reality, the more I fear my duplicity. Oh Lord, give me grace to serve You with all that I am. Anyway, I’m in. I’m shaking in my boots, but I’m in. I call to Elise in the other room, “Wanna read our Bibles together when I’m done?”
“Sure!”
She’s game. Green light.
So, here we go: discipleship meeting #1. Location: our bedroom floor. Desired impartation: learning to listen and recognize the voice of God.
I inquire if Elise has comprehended Uncle Sam’s teachings on discipleship, the last few Sunday’s. She’s a bit foggy. I do my best to break down the requirements of a disciple (How advanced is the cognitive development of a nine-year-old? Does she comprehend what I’m saying? Okay, I trust the Holy Spirit inside of us both—onward). A disciple understands that the Lord has complete control over her life; she wants to know Jesus—knows the joy of obedience and learning to listen to His voice. I ask if Elise has ever heard Jesus’ voice; she hits me with an uncertain smile—isn’t sure. “Alright, the Lord speaks in a lot of different ways. Sometimes, when I’m reading the Bible a verse will stand out to me. Sometimes He speaks through dreams—like Dad talks about a lot. Sometimes you will see a picture either with your eyes closed or open, a vision. Sometimes you “hear” a word or phrase in your mind.”
“How do you know it’s His voice?”
“Well, sometimes you have this joyous burning feeling inside you—like when He asks you to do something. Another way to tell if what you’re hearing is from Him is by comparing it to what the Bible says. That’s why it’s so important for us to know the Bible. Like if I’m listening and I ‘hear’ ‘do not fear,’ I know that that’s not from the enemy because it’s in alignment with the truth in my Bible. Negative things like ‘you are worthless’ are not from the Lord. Even when he rebukes or corrects us, it always brings joy. I think the best way to learn how to recognize His voice is by practice. So, wanna give it a shot?” She’s still with me. “Alright, so what we’re going to do is be silent for a few minutes. I’m going to ask the Lord to speak to us (He’s always speaking), and let’s practice setting our minds on Him and waiting in expectation for if He would have anything to speak to us.”
This is awkward. All of my words have been jerking, inexperienced attempts at conveying one of the most central aspects of our walk with Christ. I’m begging the Lord not to let me be put to shame. The silence settles, and awkwardness fades as sneak a glance at my sister—her face peaceful, relaxed, waiting with me, trustful. I settle down. The moments pass in silence.
[Pieces of a worship song slide through my mind. I’m still a bit frenzied. I rest in the beauty of knowing how pleased the Lord must be with this sweet little lamb before me. I know He’s joyous with His daughter….“My grace is sufficient.”]
“Okay. Did you get anything?” She shakes her head. “That’s alright.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“Yeah.” I present the few things I received.
“So do you actually hear His voice, or is it more like your voice in your mind?”
That’s one of those difficult-to-explain things. I fumble an answer, “Yeah, it’s not like I’m hearing his voice with my ears—“
“I know…”
“Yeah, well, you know when you’re thinking about something and words are going through your mind? Kinda like that.”
I feel myself careening down a theological latter. I’m really butchering this. I disregard my futility at affective articulation and move on.
“Let’s try to do this together every day this week. It’s going to be so much fun when we start recognizing His voice even better.” She agrees.
This is messy; this is far from profound, but it's a start. This is for eternity. It's way more valuable than painting our nails. We’re in.
