People ask me all the time if there is something I miss about my home state of Florida, and for the most part I’d have to say good thunderstorms. I know that sounds weird to some of you, but to me there is little better than just laying around listening to the rain and a good rumble from the sky. I love it, and I miss it here – our thunderstorms in East Tennessee are just, well, different. And they tend to enjoy showing up in the middle of the night. Take last night for example.
I knew the storms were coming before we went to bed, and that meant I also knew we could be in for a long night. You see, in my boys’ eyes thunderstorms are not peaceful or fun, but horrible moments of absolute panic-stricken terror. That is to say, they don’t like them. So I kind of slept with “one ear open”, listening for scared little voices calling my name in between heavenly drum rolls.
Somewhere around 2:30 I heard it. Muffled – as it would be – through two closed doors and over the sound of our “background noise” fan that runs all night – my oldest screaming at the top of his lungs: “Mama!!!! Moooooooom!!!!”
I bolted out of that bed faster than might be humanly possible, ripped open the bedroom door and ran across the hall perhaps without even touching the floor in an effort to reach my terrified child. What I saw next froze me in my steps.
Only an instant had passed since I had heard the scream that was so obviously the voice of this precious boy I have known for the past seven and a half years, and yet there he was: blissfully sound asleep, guarded by the steady, warm glow of his Knight light. It wasn’t him. Could I have mistaken Little Man’s voice for his brother’s? I had to check! As quickly and quietly as I could, I made my way to door number two, sure that I’d find a shaking, wide-eyed little boy.
And yet the scene was the same – no tears or pleas for help, only the sweet expression of a tired boy coupled with the soft sounds of slumber.
Confused, I crawled back in bed and tried to sort it out. If I hadn’t heard the boys, then what? Had I lost my mind?
Then it came again:
“Mom? Moooom!”
Now I was creeped out. Officially and totally creeped out. This wasn’t my kid! This child must be standing outside! Maybe even in my driveway! In the rain!
I sat up and strained to listen for more cries for help. My ears were tuned to someplace beyond my room – someplace outside and unimaginable, while a million different scenarios racing through my mind. Was he lost? He must be in just his pjs! How did he get outside?
I held my breath and listened intently. I could hear something, but I couldn’t make out quite what it was. Was it crying? Whining? What was that noise?
Suddenly a strange thought occurred to my rattled brain: maybe you’re listening too hard. Maybe it’s not where you think it is. So I reeled in my attention. I focused on the things right around me, the things that seemed too close to emanate a distant scream – the things that I had overlooked before in an effort to just skip to the point and meet the emergency at hand.
Things like my husband. My husband’s nose, to be exact.
It would seem that Mr. Roberts was a little congested last evening, which caused his nose to usher forth a whining, whistling sound when he exhaled. Once I tuned in to the sound of these “nose whistles”, I immediately noticed that about every third and fourth breath they sounded a lot like the muffled cries of a child. “Mom! Moooooom!!!”
Oh my word! You have no idea what a relief and simultaneous annoyance it was to discover this! The frightened, lost little boy standing in my driveway during a thunderstorm was safe at home, sleeping through the rumbles and rolls from the sky. My husband, on the other hand, was just about to wake up….
The night did go on to yield a very frightened extra roommate about half an hour after I had finally convinced myself that all was right with homeless children in my neighborhood, and that I could finally fall asleep. It was somewhere between getting kicked by little cold feet and trying not to fall off a bed that was obviously not made for three people that a strange realization washed over me: there was something to be learned from the night of the nose screams.
All at once I came to realize that I have been listening too hard for the voice of my Savior lately. I’ve been asking too many questions, analyzing too many things, worrying about way too much – all in the name of seeking “His will” for my life. But it suddenly occurred to me that in all that effort to search out something so far away – something so mysterious and scarily hidden – that I’ve completely missed the fact that the voice I want to hear is right here with me.
Jesus is closer to me than my own breath, and though His voice can be quieter even than the whistle of a nose, it’s right here within my reach. I’m the one who has made it out to be so far away, so unobtainable. All this time I’ve thought He was hiding – deliberately standing just around the next corner taunting me to find Him – but no. He’s right here with me, waiting for me to reel in the over-excited ears of my heart, to take a moment to calm down and really listen to the voice that has never stopped whispering my name during the storm.
I can’t wait to hear what He’s been trying to say.
