Father, in the quiet darkness this morning I hear the thunder rumbling. Lightning sparks and momentarily lights this dim room. And while the storm brews and simmers I sit in the cleft of the Rock--protected. You are the Rock which is higher than I. The solid rock on which I stand and hide.
Father, how often have you protected me in the granite curtains of your rock? How often have I slipped behind the stone veil and waited until the storm passed?
And this morning I am watching--standing at the cusp and edge and aperture of my safe place.
I'm waiting. Anticipating. I am waiting for the whisper. Attempting to hush myself down to silence--of which I am poorly equipped to do. Only You can hush me. Only you can soothe the distraught child in me.
Yes, I am waiting for the whisper. Father, help me. Help others. Help us to listen for your whisper.
What are you saying to us in the midst of our storms today? What are the words that come to us on the winds? What revelation of You will be given to us today? Like Elijah? What will we see? What will we hear?
Prepare us. Make us ready. Please.
We want to see your face. Perhaps, all we can see, like Moses, is your back. I want to see you face, Lord. But more than anything I want to be aware that you have passed by.
I want to be aware of your whisper...and I want to hear it not only with my ears, but in my spirit. In the marrow of me. At the center of me. And I ask that just as the thunder rumbles and I can feel in to the core of my body...I pray that your voice would do that in my spirit.
In the name of Jesus whose blood has hidden me in the cleft of the rock,
Amen and amen
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