Daddy’s Voice

On Sunday mornings, Leah spends a good bit of time in the nursery at church. With both of her parents actively involved in both services, we all have to be there all. morning. long; this was getting to be a bit much for her when she, too, had to sit through two services. She would much rather roll around on the floor with her noisy toys than sit confined in Mommy’s lap with one of her “quiet” toys for a couple of hours. I know, right? I don’t get it, either. Beats me.

In any case, she is always in the nursery for the second service, and recently has been allowed to play during the first service, too. (She is becoming increasingly vocal. It’s adorable, yes, but not good for maintaining the sanctity of worship.) I stay with her during the first service on most mornings, because once I finish with my welcome spiel and prayer, I’m not required to be in the gathering and let’s face it – two services, with a sermon and music and communion and everything in both – is a bit much for one morning. Besides, if I should choose to hear the sermon in the first service, I can do so through speakers that were recently installed in the baby room for the convenience of the workers and other moms.

This past Sunday, when I went to pick her up after worship, one of the nursery workers told me of her time in the nursery that day.

“She played very well. She was rolling around on the floor and we were all watching her when all of a sudden, she just stopped. She stopped everything and was just looking around and smiling and “talking” and all. We didn’t think much about it, but then we realized that she heard your voice over the intercom. She heard you talking in church and was trying to figure out where you were!”

I don’t think I have to tell you how that warmed this mama’s heart.

The nursery workers told me it was adorable that she recognized and responded to my voice that way. (I have to agree.) What is more interesting, to me, is that none of the other children in the nursery responded at all to my voice. They didn’t seem to even hear it, and it certainly didn’t get the same reaction from them that it did from Leah.

Why? Because I’m not their mommy, and they don’t know my voice. To them, my voice was just another noise contributing to the cacophony of nursery rhymes and bells and rattles. To them, my voice was nothing special. Nothing worth paying attention to. Nothing worth stopping for.

As I thought about it, I was struck by how profound this could be.

Really. How does Leah know my voice? Is it intuitive? No. It comes from hearing it day after day, all day every day. She knows my voice because she spends time with it. (She probably hears it in her sleep, as much as I talk to her throughout the day about nothing and everything all at once!)

I want to know God’s voice that well. I want to know God’s voice in a way that when I hear Him speak to me, I stop dead in my tracks, halting whatever I was doing, and listen. I want to know His voice in a way that when I hear Him speak, nothing is more important than hearing what He has to say to me right that second and heeding whatever it might be.

I want to stop everything to listen to Him. I don’t want anything to preoccupy me from hearing Him and really listening to what He says. I want my reaction to His presence to be so sudden and startling that everyone around me wonders what I could be doing. I want everyone to wonder what I’m listening to, and what is making me act that way. I want my reaction to His voice to touch others and make them want to listen, too. I don’t want anything I’m doing to get in the way of that.

And what's more, I think He would be pretty delighted for His child to respond that way.

Then Eli realized the Lord was calling the boy. So Eli told Samuel, “Go and lie down, and if he calls to you, say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’” So Samuel went and lay down in his place.

The Lord came and stood there, calling as at the other times, “Samuel! Samuel!”

Then Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” (1 Samuel 3:8-10)