Cybercolumn by Berry D. Simpson: Small voice

Posted: 8/06/07

CYBER COLUMN:
Small voice

The other Sunday morning, I told my adult Bible study class this story from ourrecent family reunion vacation to Northern New Mexico:

We drove into Camp Oro Quay, east of Albuquerque, late Friday night,only to discover one missing suitcase. I’d left Cyndi’s suitcase in Angel Fire earlier that morning. Cyndi was pretty upset about it, but I couldn’t tell whether she was more upset at me for not loading the suitcase, or at herself for not checking to make sure it was loaded, or at the fact it was so late at night and she wasn’t asleep yet and now she had this to worry about.

I knew I’d loaded everything that was outside in the driveway besidemy pickup, but I had no memory of seeing another suitcase anywhere.

When we went to bed, the communal thought was that Cyndi and I woulddrive back up to Angel Fire to get the suitcase Sunday morning afterputting Drew and Katie on the airplane in Albuquerque, then drive back to Midland by way of Clayton and Amarillo. It would add about five hours to our drive home.

So we went to bed. I slept well for the first two-thirds of the night, but about 4, I woke up, fretting about the missing suitcase. I was worried about Cyndi not having a good time with her family while wearing the same clothes over and over. Some people in her family are always leaving things behind: bags, important papers, money, bills, checkbooks, car keys; I knew Cyndi didn’t want to be included in that group. And I didn’t want people to think I was forgetful way, either. Of course, I had my clothes.

And I was feeling guilty because I hadn’t noticed the suitcase was missing when I loaded all our stuff. And I pride myself on my packing ability. In my defense, there were four of us traveling together, and we each had two or three bags, plus ice chest, golf clubs, a large box of family reunion T-shirts, and all our purchases from Taos and Albuquerque. One missing bag was easy to overlook.

Sometime during the early morning while staring up into the darkness, I remembered that the camp was located east of Albuquerque, and if I drove straight north, I could cut a big tangent and save hours and hours driving to Angel Fire. And, if I left early enough, I could be back at the camp by noon and not miss any of the reunion festivities.

Well, now I was too pleased with myself to sleep. I got up at 6, unable to stay in bed one minute longer now that I was energized by my plan. With a plan, I had clarity and hope. I had a grip and could not let go.

Cyndi was in “the girl’s room” next door, so I stuck my head in to say goodbye. She followed me outside and hugged and kissed me and told me not to go and tried to talk me out of it, but I was already on a mission. I was already gone.

I finally left the camp at 6:45, drove all the way to the house in Angel Fire without stopping, arriving at 9:15. I made good time,but my tangent-cutting didn’t cut as much driving time as I’d hoped. I found the suitcase standing in the door of our bedroom, waiting patiently to be picked up. I spent about 15 minutes in Angel Fire, left at 9:30, and was back having lunch with Cyndi and family by 12:30. Quite an adventure for someone such as me.

So, my question for the Bible study class was this: Was it God who spoke to me in my bunk at 4 that Saturday morning? Or was it my own brain in problem-solving mode? In fact, I don’t know.

Most of the time, when I think I hear from God, it isn’t very obvious; reasonable minds might argue that God had no part in it and I was tricking myself. I don’t know for a fact if God spoke to me that morning in my bunk. I believe God often speaks in subtle ways and in a quiet voice. I wish he would be more forceful and obvious, but if he spoke to me in all his God-ness, I would have no choice but to obey, and for some reason he wants to give me the opportunity to say no.

Another thing I believe. If I am honestly seeking God and listening intently for his voice, I must act immediately on whatever I hear. Yet many times I don’t recognize the voice as his until later, in retrospect, after I have some perspective on events of the day.

And here is one more thing I believe: Listening to the subtle voice of God is one of Cyndi’s greatest influences on me. I’ve learned it from her.

Berry Simpson, a Sunday school teacher at First Baptist Church in Midland, is a petroleum engineer, writer, runner and member of the city council in Midland. You can contact him through e-mail at berry@stonefoot.org.