In a Still Small Voice
When I was about sixteen, my father finally let me start drinking coffee with a teaspoon of cream in it instead of milk with a teaspoon of coffee in it. He used to come in my room at dark thirty and whisper my name in a still, small voice.
“Lillian,” as he leaned around the door post. Then a little louder, “Lillian,” just enough to barely wake me up. It was around 6 or so-- especially on Saturday when I as a teenager wanted to sleep in. Then louder, “LILLIAN, ARE YOU AWAKE!!”
“I am now,” I would sleepily reply. “Good, get up and have a cup of coffee with me.” I would get my robe and slippers on especially if it was cold, and drag to the kitchen table where a cup of steaming coffee waited at my place.
As I look back on those times, I wish I could do it again with a little more enthusiasm. I loved my dad and enjoyed my growing up years with his talks and wisdom. The only time I ever really went against his choice for me was when I wanted to go to a far away college and he wanted me to stick closer to home. But that’s another story.
I’ll never forget the first time I remember hearing God’s still, small voice. I was troubled about my salvation and had just asked God, ‘If I’m not saved, would You just save me right now.” In all of salvation’s glory and Holy Spirit indwelling, I heard His voice calling me into His Forever Family.
The Bible, God’s Holy Word, says “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me:”
And I do hear God’s voice every day. It’s odd but in the early morning when I first wake up, I hear Him telling me, “Good morning, Lillian, I love you.”
I wonder if He was preparing me with my dad’s voice to get up and have a cup of heavenly coffee with Him. I wonder when Enoch walked with God and was not, for God took him, the conversation was like this, “God, it’s getting late and I need to get home, would you come to my house for coffee?”
And God’s reply, “No, let’s go to My House for some much better Heavenly brew.” And they did.
I wonder, too, when Jesus calls me by name and tells me to “Come up hither.”—if I won’t be drinking that same cup with Him at the marriage supper of the Lamb. And I wonder if it will be early in the morning at dark thirty.