...i know His voice...

From the gospel of John, chapter 10

“But He that entereth in by the door [of the sheepfold] is the shepherd of the sheep.
To Him the porter openeth; and the sheep hear His voice:  and He calleth His own sheep by name, and leadeth them out.
And when He putteth forth His own sheep, He goeth before them, and the sheep follow Him; for they know His voice. (v. 2-5)
...then said Jesus unto them again, Verily, verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep... (v. 7)
...I am the door; by Me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture... (v. 9)
...I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd giveth His life for the sheep. (v. 11)
...I am the good shepherd, and know My sheep, and am known of Mine.” (v. 14)


I do know His voice.  I sometimes think my walk with Him is very slow, very halting, sometimes one step forward and two steps back...but when I listen, He is there.  His voice is unmistakable.  He speaks through so many things.  A brilliant sunrise, the haunting beauty of the moon in the darkness.  More snow, more brilliant white to remind me of how clean He has washed my heart.  The sweetest little boy who sat on my lap in church yesterday.  Even though this gorgeous baby with the blonde curly hair didn’t know me (and usually, little kids and babies don‘t automatically love me unless they know me--I have never been a “baby whisperer“), my sparkly necklace got his attention and a couple of pieces of candy kept it.  Hugs from family and friends and little kiddos, on a day when I desperately needed them. And the surprise of having a good day when I again woke with the fear that I was not going to be able to tackle the day at all.

And, from her book Rose from Brier, another poem by Amy Carmichael that went straight to the heart of me.

“Lover of souls, Thee have I heard,
Thee will I sing, for sing I must
Thy good and comfortable word
Hath raised my spirit from the dust.

In dusty ways my feet had strayed
And foolish fears laid hold on me,
Until what time I was afraid
I suddenly remembered Thee.
 
Remembering Thee, I straight forgot
What otherwhile had troubled me;
It was as though it all were not,
I only was aware of Thee.

And quietness around me fell,
And Thou didst speak; my spirit heard;
I worshiped and rejoiced; for well
I knew Thy comfortable word.

Whoso hath known that comforting,
The inward touch that maketh whole,
How can he ever choose but sing
To Thee O Lover of his soul?”

In the chapter I was reading, Miss Carmichael tells how she was dealt one disappointment after another.  Though she was hoping to be healed from her injuries in time to attend and enjoy a much-longed-for event, it was not to be.  By the time of the great occasion, she was still confined to her bed, not even able to be up in a chair.  It was a sore disappointment.  She writes:

“And I ached to be there really, not just in spirit--ached till everything was one ache; and then, each word as clear as though it slid down the clear chiming bells, this little song sang within me:

“Thou hast not that, My child, but Thou hast Me,
And am not I alone enough for thee?
I know it all, know how thy heart was set
Upon this joy which is not given yet.

And well I know how through the wistful days
Thou walkest all the dear familiar ways,
As unregarded as a breath of air,
But there in love and longing, always there.

I know it all; but from thy brier shall blow
A rose for others.  If it were not so
I would have told thee.  Come, then, say to Me,
My Lord, my Love, I am content with Thee.”
After the poem, she continues:

“From thy brier shall blow a rose for others.”  ...I saw rather a low, very prickly rosebush in an old-fashioned English garden; it was covered with inconspicuous pink roses.  But the wonder of the bush was its all-pervading fragrance, for it was a sweetbrier.  And I saw One who has long been in the land where no thorns grow, cutting a spray, stripping the thorns off and giving it to me.

...I think that when He whom our soul loveth comes so near to us, and so gently helps our human weakness, then...we are borne over the oppression that would hold us down, we mount up on wings, we find a secret sweetness in our brier.  But it is not of us.  It is Love that lifts us up.  It is Love that is the sweetness.

Is the one who reads this in a great weariness, or the exhaustion that follows a sore hurt, or in the terrible grasp of pain?  He who loves as no one else can love, who understands to the uttermost, is not far away.  He wants us to say, he can give it to us to say, “My Lord, my Love, I am content with Thee.”

 
Hmmm.  How did she know?  She could not have known the great weariness that I would be in, as I read this chapter of her book.  She could not have known how my dear friend, with whom I share many of these words, aches with terrible physical pain, all the time.  She could not have known the hurts of all you who will read this; and the aches in your hearts that only Jesus can see and know. 

But...she could hear His voice.  And we who know His voice can hear it, however He chooses to send it to our ears.  Whether it be through a song, a poem, a beautiful sunrise, a smile or a hug when we most need it.  And i am learning that, in weariness or pain, when I am dealt sore disappointments or hurts; in each of these things, He is teaching me to say, “My Lord, my Love, I am content with Thee.”