​

His Voice

 

His gentle whisper I can hear,

when I listen and truly believe that I will.

Like the roar of the sea,

the rhythmic washing of the surf on the sand

deep inside the smooth-polished

coral pink conch shell

when I press it to my ear.

I know it’s real.

I’ve known it since I was a child.

But I can only hear it when I am quiet and still.

 

He comes to us

in miraculous ways sometimes.

Our burning bush, our stone tablets,

our angelic message on a

shepherd’s hill beneath a starry night

might just be a simple prayer said through tears,

a song on the radio about His love and mercy,

a gentle hand comforting our own,

His words recorded in a wondrous book,

written just for me.

 

I found a sun-bleached shell

on a sun-drenched beach,

waiting for me to find it, to hear its song –

just like You are waiting

for me now.

​