Sifting through the clamor

This is the purpose that is purposed concerning the whole earth, and this is the hand that is stretched out over all the nations. For the Lord of hosts has purposed, and who will annul it? His hand is stretched out, and who will turn it back? Isaiah 14: 26-27

So I was restless yesterday afternoon.  Perhaps it had something to do with the enthusiasm with which Panchita was instructing me on how to properly wipe down a stove, but I decided to go for a walk.

Now, across Country Club Road lies a most heart-lifting beauteous walk, especially with the late afternoon sun skipping across the breezy trees and still the hint of after-rain creosote lingering.  And I have a pattern, or perhaps well-grooved rut, for those who know me well, of a happy loop through the loveliness, with even set memorials paced along the way... this little stretch under the eucalyptus is where I pray for Andrea, and then I make this turn and pray for Heather, and here, at this tree, I pray for a teenage mom I mentored five or six years ago.  Every time.  

But yesterday, I turned left.  Past the woodpile, through the scrabbly oleander bushes, and stood for a moment in the crowded parking lot.  It was one of those odd gripped moments, “Is this the voice of the Spirit?”  Pause.  And I headed through the simmering it’s-almost-summer cars, it occurred to me to go knock on the door of a friend whom I last spoke to.. hmmm... last July?  Or something like that. 

And she answered the door, finished tidying up the kitchen, and we went for a walk, round and round the back neighborhood.  And we talked over life, the ups and downs, and wondered about God in all of it.  And then I headed home.

And was this His small still voice?  Was this conversation one of those road-less-traveled moments that will be looked back upon with wonder?  Or will it just be a pleasant blur of a sunny afternoon?  And how does it all work together anyway?  What is the balance between His sovereignty and my free will? 

I do not know.  But I do think one thing, that I would prefer to be joyfully drawing water from the wells of salvation rather than being laid low because of my ruthless pomposity.  And I do believe that He is at work in me to will and to work His good purpose, and it is preferred to be soft clay under His firm Potter’s fingers, rather than stubborn dry earth that must be smashed and broken and set aside to soak before being of service.  

Let me please pause, listen, and then obey.