We know that God’s Word has power. With it, He spoke the world into existence.

No, really. Think about that for a minute.

He spoke into a void of nothingness and the world came into being.  He didn’t labor all day or work up a sweat. He just said it and it was.

With His words He told a storm at sea to be still… and it did.

There is such strength in His word that Job’s friend likened it to thunder. “Listen carefully to the thunder of God’s voice as it rolls from his mouth. It rolls across the heavens and his lightning flashes out in every direction. Then comes the thunder – the tremendous voice of his majesty.” (Job 37:2-4)

But for all that strength and power, His words were also gentle and healing. When Elijah was hiding in a cave from the wicked Queen Jezebel, God’s voice came not in the great wind or the earthquake or the fire. God’s word came quietly in the sound of gentle blowing. (1 Kings 19)

In this modern age, we use a lot of words. But, in all of that chatter there is still nothing quite like a word spoken by God. Words as profound and awesome as the One who spoke them. The great King David of Israel’s glory days would try to describe God’s words through poetry and song. Grasping for metaphors to illustrate the wonder of them, he said that the words of God were sweeter than honey and finer than gold.

Words that could bring life, give insight, heal deep hurts, illumine the dark and fearful places, cut beyond the layers of pride and insecurity that encase us, discern truth from error. Words spoken with power and authority. Words that nourish with both grace and truth.

Words that give us a glimpse of the One who spoke them. Just a peek so that we might begin to comprehend the very nature of God. How gracious of God to tell us a bit of His story. To reveal Himself to us so that we don’t have to grope around in the dark… wondering and guessing. To let us know that we are part of that story.

Wonder of wonders. That the very voice that once called the stars out by name and commanded the morning to come forth, is the same voice that sings love songs to us. Lavishing words of delight over us. Calling to us and making Himself just a tad vulnerable like a suitor pursuing his beloved. And, then writing it all down for us so that we wouldn’t forget. So that when the days seem lonely and nights especially dark, we can open the love letters and remember. Reminders that the story isn’t over. That it’s not just a fairy tale. It’s really all true. And, He’s coming back for His bride.

But… what if you’d never heard the story? What if all these years you’d been looking at the wonder of creation and felt the longing? Sensing that Someone amazing must have done it. Instinctively wanting to worship this One who made such beauty. And, yet, never knowing the story.

Maybe you’d worship the creation itself or a wooden idol of what you imagine this diety must be like. Maybe you’d tell stories to try and fill in the gaps. Stories that would pass down from generation to generation. Your attempts to explain the mysteries. The trouble is, it’s hard to explain things you don’t really understand.

 If only you knew that He’d written it all down for you. That He wasn’t  an impersonal force or a golden statue or a set of ideals. Rather, He was a personal God who spoke… to you.

The truth is, this is the situation for many people. Here in America we have God’s words, written down in the Bible. We have it paraphrased. We have bits of  it on plaques and bumper stickers. There are Bibles just for kids with fun facts and maps in the margins. There are Bibles with pink covers just for women and large print Bibles for people who have trouble seeing. We have Kindle Bibles and laptop Bibles. We have so many Bibles that we’ve grown numb to the power of the words on the pages. We don’t even care anymore. In fact, a lot of us would rather argue than listen anyway. And, that’s OK with God. He lets us make that choice.

But,  in the mountain villages of Oaxaca, Mexico, there are people that have never had the opportunity to make that choice. Precious people who have been lovingly created and cherished by a God they don’t even know. People whose ancestors sacrificed people in an attempt to appease the deity they imagined. They’ve never heard the real story or read His love letters written to them.

And, so tomorrow I go to give it to them. I’ll join with a team of 10 people from our church who will help get God’s words to them – for the first time ever in their own language. On solar-powered MP3 players of all things.

For 10 days, we’ll live with them and dine with them and help them finish the concrete floor of a building in their village. We’ll pray with them and for them and we’ll talk to them about the God who made their mountains and put the sun in their sky. We’ll let them hear the words of the One who came full of grace and truth – the words of Jesus spoken to them in their own language.  

I’ll have to leave some of the people that I love most to go do it. I’m not sure what to expect or how safe I’ll be. I don’t know what they like to eat or if I’ll get to shower or if tarantulas will crawl in my shoes while I sleep.

But, this I do know. Everyone should have a chance to taste words that are sweeter than honey and hear truth that is worth more than gold.

You’ve probably noticed that the keystrokes have been quiet for the last month or so here in my little corner of the internet. My usual tapping away has stalled. Not so much the pondering but the voicing of those thoughts.

They say that’s bad for a blog. Go figure, silence doesn’t really attract readers. But, it had to be done.

Acutally, at first it was unintentional. The days slipping by with springtime tasks, a busy school schedule, and a family bout with Strep Throat.

But, then I realized that the break was good. My heart had been a jumble of thoughts and emotions. Sometimes it’s just best to keep silent vigil on those thoughts. To reel in the tongue and be slow to speak.

It’s not a new lesson for me. My words have gotten me in trouble before. So much of life is like that. Relearning the things I’ve learned before. Applying them afresh. Letting my failures drive me to dependence on God’s Spirit and begging Him for heart-level transformation.

This time it all started with the fervor over the healthcare bill here in the U.S. There was so much banter about it on Facebook. I allowed myself to get sucked in by it. I could feel this “righteous indignation” (at least that’s what I’d like to call it!) flaring up in my soul and I felt compelled to comment. It wasn’t extremely divisive comment but it also just didn’t need said. And, even when I wasn’t commenting, I was anxious and concerned about commenting.

Then, just a few days later, there was the “discussion turned debate” with a friend about ministry to the poor. Another time where my heart was getting worked up and I realized about half-way through it that I just never should have commented in the first place.

As I sheepishly relayed both discussions to my Rick, he asked some great questions and it sent me into a time a healthy examination. Why do I feel compelled to enter into these discussions? What do I think is going to be accomplished by my sassy status post? Is my motive to lovingly enter into thought-provoking discussion with others or is it shove my perspective into the face of another? What am I trying to prove – to myself, to others? Why do I feel responsible for what other people are thinking?

Furthermore, what do I want to want to be known for? My political leanings? Sheesh, I hope not. What am I willing to go to the mat for? Healthcare reform in one generation in one nation – which is simply one place in a vast universe? I think not.

Nevermind the fact that I have a limited number of hours to spend in my days. If I’m using them arguing on Facebook, you can bet that the laundry is not done, that I’m distracted when the kids have a question, that I’m falling behind on articles that I should be writing, and that I’m wearied instead of refreshed when my husband walks through the door at 6 p.m.

Does that mean that I should just park my brain and not think with a critical lense about the things I see and hear – whether on Facebook or on the news or on talk radio or on a blog? Does that mean I shouldn’t care about political issues that have their ripples in the moral realm? No, of course not.

I just want to be a woman who chooses well. I want to live with vision – spending my time and words on the things that matter most. I don’t want to speak just because I can. I want my words to bear fruit – in my life as well as in yours.

Perhaps my Lord said it better than I when He penned these words through His servant Paul in his letter to the church at Philippi:

Do all things without grumbling or disputing; that you may prove yourselves to be blameless and innocent, children of God above reproach in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you appear as lights in the world, holding fast to the word of life…

Let me be a woman who holds fast to the word of life.

And if that gets clouded by the worries of this world or gets jumbled by competing thoughts, let me be a woman who just shuts up. *wink*

_______________________________________________________

Thanks for coming back to ponder with me afresh! I look forward to more musings with you in the days to come. And, I appreciate your grace during my silence this last month, Shannon