Roaring Quiet.

The mower roars forward. I am happy to have some quiet. The roar drowns out the; …”Can I…?” “Can we…?” “When will….?” “Why does…?” of seven people with seven agendas. Mowing neat rows I run to meet God in my yard. For Him to walk with me in my garden.
“Lord can I…?”
“Father can we…?”
Paying no attention to the irony of my prayer, I continue on, seeking Him.
Pushing my weight into the mower. Pressing in to get the job done in the time I have captured.
Wanting to hear the fresh word. All the women in my family are expected to come with the freshness of God’s news. It’s what we do. We are raised into it…to hear with ears of our heart.

A snippit from heaven.
My great grandmother collected it while she rocked in chairs with worn Bibles before church picnics. My grandmother bandaged physical wounds in Haiti while slathering on fresh words for their hearts. My mother has brought heavens news and archives atop horseback to the very dredges of a trackmarked society, in the same week speaking before auditoriums of finely insigniad ladies…each group wanting the same thing…hope. My sister can bring you the snippit in song or rhyme with a single word or in a lengthy prayer she can make you laugh and cry with the Words God bombards her. It’s our normal.
It is unquenchable.
“Why does…?”
“When will…?”
The neat rows form and the bag of mowed grass bulges. All the snippits ready to layer onto my garden to stifle any weeds which find their way.
The true listening is hard when you pick up where they left off…”Father can we….?”

What are you hearing today? Let’s exchange notes in the comments section.T