Please Talk to Me!

In an attempt to instill in my children a healthy respect for authority and a sensitivity to the hearing of those around them, I've requested that they not yell at the top of their lungs when seeking my attention. Rather, they should actively look for me while calling "Mother, dear!" with cherubic-like hope and anticipation. This rarely happens, but I remain sanguine.

While frantically packing our things for the mass exodus from our Sunriver home last week, Avery forgot this mandate and ran up and down the stairs shouting, "MOMMY!" with considerable force and volume. I waited patiently for her to find me so that I could sweetly say, "Yes, dear?" in lieu of yelling back a response. It didn't happen. The child was flustered and finally pleaded, "Mommy, PLEASE talk to me!" Now, Avery is only three. She needs to know that her mommy can hear her, especially when away from home. So I answered back (with considerable force and volume) and she was relieved to finally burst into the room that revealed her elusive mother.

After addressing Avery's need, I pondered her request. It was not the typical, "Where are you?" Instead, it was an unquenchable desire to hear my voice. She knew that if she could just hear her mamma's voice, she would eventually find her mamma's arms. So I ask myself, how often do I run frantically to and fro, shouting for the Lord's attention? How often do I cry out, "Please talk to me!" without realizing where I am? My Father hasn't gone anywhere, and He hasn't chosen to be silent. He beckons me, that I might be comforted by His voice and calmed by His presence. It merely falls to me to ascend and embrace.