The drift
My husband and I went kayaking with a small group of people a few weeks ago in southeastern Ireland. At some point during the escapade, we had to stop in the middle of the ocean and we so happened to stop next to some contraption used to trap lobsters. The kayaking instructor emphatically warned us to keep paddling on the spot so that we do not drift off from the group and to use the lobster traps as markers. We continued paddling while keeping our eyes on the marker but we occasionally got tired and needed breaks. With too long a break, a few of us realized we had drifted meters away from the marker and needed to pedal back. Of course, this journey back felt harder than paddling on the spot. The art of coming home This sounds and feels like my relationship with God – one minute I have my eye on the marker, I know that I just need to keep paddling, but the next minute I am drifting away because of distraction or mismanaged exhaustion. I like to think that the extent of this drift differs from person to person, that some people realize their drift later than others do. I also like to think that being familiar with God’s voice and God’s markers mitigates the extent of the drift and helps with the journey back. Let us face it, we are a distracted people. The worries of life, the deceitfulness of wealth and the desires for other things can come in and choke the Good word out of us (Mark 4:19). Naturally, we do not seek God and we need a guiding light as we stumble in the dark. I think accepting the drifts as imminent, whether the drift is momentary or lasts for weeks, we can glean from them and learn the art of coming home. We should also keep in mind that the art is not self-willed, that we desperately need a redeeming, healing, forgiving and restoring God. Although we pant, longing for a present God and longing for a transforming presence, there is ‘disciplined grace’ for this art, as Richard Foster puts it. Grace because it is freely given, but disciplined because we also have work to do. Our work, itself, does not will us to come home; it only places us in a position where God can do the work. A soft voice Learning and practising the art of coming home or rather, being familiar with home and its markers, embraces being attuned to God’s voice. Most importantly, moving from treating God’s voice as not only a conceptual entity but also a reality. Coming home embraces the pursuit of a pursuing God, where the practicality of the pursuit rests on trusting that He is forever working and guiding you and that wisdom is available for anyone who asks. The terrain is troublesome and often loud with many voices – infantile, aggressive, misleading, and scheming voices. Acquainting yourself with the right voice is hard at first, and a possibly harder aspect is hearing and responding. It comes with the trust that you are being led by a good shepherd. A well-attuned sheep does not only know the voice, but it listens and follows. Your loudest voice should be the soft voice. Soft, not as a degree of its loudness, but an expression of its security. Soft because it is patient and it is kind. Soft because it is not self-imposing or self-seeking. It is a voice that garners its softness from rejoicing with the truth, always protecting and always persevering. A voice that reaches far and wide, and a voice that is high and deep. Today still, this deep voice is calling to deep (Psalm 42:7).
2 Comments
Lungile
12/17/2020 20:12:05
Exquisite writing. Beautiful description of the soft voice. I love all of it
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Fikile
2/1/2021 14:32:21
What a great read. You write so beautifully ❤
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Rea Zwane"I am just trying to live it up with a big God" Archives
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