I Heard a Still Voice
"There was silence, and I heard a still voice" (Job 4:16, margin).
A score of years ago, a friend placed in my hand a book called True Peace.
It was an old mediaeval message, and it had but one thought--that God was
waiting in the depths of my being to talk to me if I would only get still
enough to hear His voice.
I thought this would be a very easy matter, and so began to get still. But I
had no sooner commenced than a perfect pandemonium of voices reached my
ears, a thousand clamoring notes from without and within, until I could hear
nothing but their noise and din.
Some were my own voices, my own questions, some my very prayers. Others were
suggestions of the tempter and the voices from the world's turmoil.
In every direction I was pulled and pushed and greeted with noisy
acclamations and unspeakable unrest. It seemed necessary for me to listen to
some of them and to answer some of them; but God said,
"Be still, and know that I am God." Then came the conflict of thoughts for
tomorrow, and its duties and cares; but God said, "Be still."
And as I listened, and slowly learned to obey, and shut my ears to every
sound, I found after a while that when the other voices ceased, or I ceased
to hear them, there was a still small voice in the depths of my being that
began to speak with an inexpressible tenderness, power and comfort.
As I listened, it became to me the voice of prayer, the voice of wisdom, the
voice of duty, and I did not need to think so hard, or pray so hard, or
trust so hard; but that "still small voice" of the Holy Spirit in my heart
was God's prayer in my secret soul, was God's answer to all my questions,
was God's life and strength for soul and body, and became the substance of
all knowledge, and all prayer and all blessing: for it was the living GOD
Himself as my life, my all.
It is thus that our spirit drinks in the life of our risen Lord, and we go
forth to life's conflicts and duties like a flower that has drunk in,
through the shades of night, the cool and crystal drops of dew. But as dew
never falls on a stormy night, so the dews of His grace never come to the
restless soul. --A. B. Simpson
Peace.
Bill
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