Ear To The Ground

Ear to the Ground

In most of the westerns I grew up watching, a good cowboy or Indian could tell when help (or danger) was coming by listening for the sound of approaching hooves. Sometimes a wrangler or warrior would actually get down off his horse and put his ear to the ground to try to sense the faint vibration that might hint at coming reinforcements.

Well, these days my ear is tuned for hoofbeats. I am attentive and straining hard to hear. I know my Father’s voice, and I long to take the time to zero in on it through the noise of daily living . . . but for this season at least, the silence has been quite deafening. I don’t hear a sound.

“Faith,” the writer of Hebrews asserts, “shows the reality of what we hope for; it is evidence of things we cannot see” (11:1). Could it also be the certainty of what we do not hear? Trying to explain this mysterious new silent treatment to a trusted friend, I found myself at a loss for words. But yesterday, these few words came, like a silent movie clicking out staccato code on a steady, spinning reel:

If it weren’t for all the

years and miles and tears—

If it weren’t for all the

sudden joys and solid saves

and lavish good—

I’d say that you’ve gone missing,

or you’re sleeping on the job.

But silent isn’t absent—

it is simply proof on mute.

I’m calling this a coda

in a lifelong song of presence,

and my ear is to the ground

to hear the thunder of

your cavalry of one.

Come.

If you hear his voice today, praise him! If you hear only silence, praise him! Keep an ear tuned for the shout that says help’s finally on the way.

In that day the people will proclaim, “This is our God! We trusted in him, and he saved us!”

Isaiah 25:9