GodSpeak

There have been three times when God has actually spoken to me audibly--where I actually heard His words. When He does this, He uses my own internal Scott-voice, the same one that says things like, "a chocolate shake sounds good", "my wife is tougher than she thinks", "I don't think my boss likes me". But when God uses my voice, it has wisdom and insight and truth that I do not possess.

The first time was as I drove away from a very successful business meeting. I was so happy with the way things turned out I was giddy and grinning as I pulled out of the parking lot. I started immediately praying and thanking God for His presence at the meeting and his obvious providence. At one point I told Him, "You are an awesome God!" And I immediately heard at the back of my mind, "Then why don't you tell anyone about Me?"

Sadly, I had no answer for the Creator of All. And so I set forth to tell folks about our wonderful God. Not in the conventional, religious (I hate that word!) ways. But in my own way. And I am still doing it in various ways. (If you are reading this, consider yourself centered in God's crosshairs!)

Another time, when I was not so happy, I was doing the old whiny prayer, you know: "Oh, woe is me! Why am I constantly under this dark cloud. God, where are you? Why don't I feel you near me anymore?" This time he said, "You need to let me love you."

Now how do you respond to that? How was I, a mere mortal, preventing the Creator of All including me, from loving me? But I knew He was right. I was blocking Him, turning away from His love at times, at others only paying attention to Him when I wanted something. And always trying to do things my way instead of trusting Him to take care of me. I had to ask Him to show me how, but I have slowly learned to "let" God love me and I feel it daily.

The third time is still hard to talk about.

My biological father left when I was very young and I knew next to nothing about him most of my life. Then, when my son Andrew was born, I couldn't fathom turning my back on this wonderful, snuggly gift from God. How did my dad do it? Why? I wanted to know. I needed to know what the hell he was thinking.

My sister and I tracked him down, arranged a meeting, met and liked each other. He was a decent man and we made plans to build a relationship or at least get together again in the future.

Then nothing. He occassionally sends a little token to me or Andrew. But there's no relationship. No plans. No father and son anything.

And one night I was feeling bad about that. Angry. Sad. Self-pity. So I started praying. I asked God why He let this happen. Why I was one of those kids, who grow up without their real father (and with a substitute father who, may he rest-in-peace, was an SOB when I was growing up). I asked God if He even realized how much of my potential was wasted because I didn't feel the love of my dad when I needed it most. I actually asked Him that!

I asked Him about my childhood: my mother dating and bringing home men I didn't know; her callousness toward me when I bothered her when she had a visitor. Living half the time with my grandparents (which was a breath of fresh air in a suffocating existence).

After Mom married my stepfather, I spent a year or more, forcing myself to stay awake at night for fear someone would break into the house. I was sure they would kill my whole family and I wanted to protect my family, despite the fact that we now had a protector of the family. I was a six-year-old watchdog. I asked God why did I feel so unsafe now that I had a "daddy".

And God whispered to me, "Because you were told your family was in danger."

What?! Who tells a 6-year-old kid something like that? And then God said, so very gently because He knew this would floor me, "Someone who wanted you to keep a secret."

And for a little while, my whole world tilted.

I don't remember who or what or when the secret happened. I just know it did, against my will. (I always suspected it, before that conversation--I had way too much knowledge about sex when I was young. And there is other evidence).

And for about an hour that night, I sat at the dining room table, with my wife and son upstairs sleeping in peace and oblivious to my plight, and cried. God was quiet, but I know He was with me.

It doesn't happen very often, but I like to cry. My eyes feel clean afterward. And my soul felt clean after that night. It was something I needed to remember, something I needed to know, and God told me as gently and softly as He could. Because before that night, I had refused to see it, look at it, even open the box. But once it was open, the healing could begin.

The healing is ongoing. My wife is beside me, helping me. And God is inside me, urging me on. He wants to see me whole. Because that is what He had in mind all along.

Jeremiah 29-11. Again.