There it was again. A faint chirping-squeak had wormed its way into my consciousness. On a quiet Sunday afternoon, I was on the front porch of our Tennessee ridge-top home, in my favorite chair, reading from my Kindle.
Did I say it was quiet? It was, exceptionally so. Even without adding any man-made noise, Mother Nature can be pretty distracting with her ambient sounds. Leaves rustling on the breeze, dogs barking, coyotes howling, mama cats calling their little ones to supper, one hundred songbirds all trying to entertain with their different melodies at the same time, red tail hawks calling to each other from high on the rising thermals, distant thunder, a handful of cows in the pasture across the valley below me mooing and lowing, and the pair of horses that shared their three acres of grazing land with the cows, nickering, and neighing in return. It could be quite the symphony.
However, it was as if Mother Nature had decided to take a break from her usual symphony. An unusual quiet and stillness, like the hush of a new snowfall, filled the air.
Except that is, for that increasingly annoying barely heard chirping squeak. I turned the Kindle over in my hands and then held it to my ear. I had never known it to make a noise before, but I suppose there was a first time for everything. However, the Kindle remained silent.
And then, just as my eyes had picked up reading where they had left off, I caught a flickering movement in my peripheral vision. Shimmering in the sun, a tiny hummingbird darted into the hanging feeder for its bounty of sugar water. Sometimes, with the larger hummingbirds, you hear the low thrum of its wings beating furiously against the air. But often, the smaller ones are simply silent. As was this one. It drank and then hovered silently for a second before returning for a second sip.
And then, in the extraordinary still and quiet of that afternoon, I heard it. The little hummingbird chirped. That was the noise I had listened to all along: a tiny hummingbird's equally tiny chirp. It was only in the soundless hush that I could hear it. And it was amazing.
The Word tells me that hearing God's voice is like that. I must quiet all the irreverent and random noise in my head and heart to discern my Lord speaking to me. I don't do it as well as I should, but I'm trying. Maybe that's what the hummingbird wanted to tell me: to keep trying.
Make sure your world is quiet enough to hear God's voice.
Kevin Spencer likes to play with words, help others play with them, and is privileged to be a staff writer for Christian Devotions. He lives with his beautiful blessing of a wife, Charlotte, and his amazing collegiate grandson, Caleb.