The Voice

This post is a long overdue follow-up to "Surrender," a blog I wrote in January.  The story - the surrender - continues.  I have hesitated to share this since January, as this was an incredibly personal moment for me and Jesus.  But this is one important piece of an ongoing story (more to come), so here goes.  You might think I'm crazy after this... I'm ok with that :)

Strange things happen in my sleep.  

There was the night that I had a dream about Johnny Knoxville telling me how he feels like he's "too far gone" for God's grace to ever reach him, then I woke up to realize I was literally praying for Johnny Knoxville - out loud - in my sleep.  

There was the night that I saw a huge spider webbing his way down the ceiling onto my bed.  I screamed, threw off my covers, ran into the living room and started shaking out my clothes, then calmly got back in bed and went straight to sleep.  It was the next morning when I remembered this occurrence and realized I dreamed the whole thing... except for the screaming, throwing, running and shaking.  That was the night I discovered that dreams of spiders (apparently) induce fits of sleep walking for me.

There was the night of the Indiana earthquake (true story) a few years back.  While it woke me up, and I understood this was odd for Indiana, I felt at peace, so, sleepily, I rolled over in my bed and mumbled to Jesus, "Ok, just wake me up if I should move."  He didn't, so I didn't.  That was one good night's sleep.

I have some weird dreams and some crazy night drama, and I'm not gonna lie - it's kinda fun.  But no dream, no earthquake, no spider and not even Johnny Knoxville himself will ever compare to the night of the Voice.

Earlier this year, I was struggling about God's direction for my life.  I kept begging Him to "just tell me what to do."  I kept saying things like, "Do you want me to go to Africa?  If you want me to go to Africa, I'll go to Africa.  If you want me to stay here and love these girls in rehab for the rest of my life, I'll do it, with all of me.  If you want me to stay close to home and take care of my grandparents through this season of suffering, I'll do it - painfully and gladly, I'll do it.  If you want me to write, I'll write.  If you want me to speak, I'll speak.  If you want me to sing, I'll sing.  Just tell me what You want me to do."  

After all my nagging, though, Jesus wasn't budging.  There was this sense that He was just not in the talking mood, and maybe by asking all these questions about "doing," I was missing the point.  

Then it happened.  I had been begging God to speak to me, and unexpectedly, finally, He did.  As I slept sound that night, I was awoken by a clear, familiar voice.  Loudly, but gently, it whispered, "Tara..."

The Voice was so real that I woke with a frightened gasp out of a sound sleep.  I thought someone was in my room; I thought I'd look to my right to see one of the girls had gotten in somehow, that there was some crisis or emergency and they had come to wake me up.  When I looked to my right, though, no one was there.  Still, I heard it, and I knew that I heard it.  I was so convinced that I got out of my bed and looked in other parts of my room to see if someone was there... but I found no one.  

I found no one, but I heard Him, and He said my name.  I thought maybe God was waking me up because something was going on with one of the girls (wouldn't be the first time).  So I went out, checked all their rooms and made sure everyone / everything was ok; all was well.  Assured that the girls were fine, I returned to my bed, staring around my room expecting to see Jesus appear at any moment... but He didn't.  There was no image, no revelation; there was just the Voice.  My heart was racing in anticipation; I desperately wanted to know what He had to say.  He got me all woken up and worked up, and then... nothing.  

A Voice whispered my name, and then it was silent.

All I could do that night was sit up in my bed, waiting for Jesus to speak.  I heard Him - I knew I heard Him - and I wanted to hear Him again.  Still, He left me with nothing but my name: "Tara..."  

After all my nagging and pleading, there was this sense in that one whisper, that what God is calling me to is more a "Who" than a "What."  I felt Him calling me back to His heart, in a deeper, more intimate way, and as I fell back to sleep that night, the impression He left on my heart was simply this:

Surrender.  

This "surrender" is turning out to mean a lot of unsettling things for me.  Life itself is about to change drastically.  The things I love the most are being beckoned to Moriah (Genesis 22), and with joy and tears, I am laying them down.  I'm finding that the point is not so much what I will be doing; how significant it is, how special or rewarding, or even how powerful the impact for God's kingdom.  The point is the surrendered life, that "way of being" in the world where my heart is settled in the love of Jesus, wherever we are, whatever we're doing, however He leads.  

There was something redemptive in hearing my name that night.  From any other voice, it might just be another word among many; from Him, it is life itself.  It is the word He used to call me to "being" again; to tell me He still knows me, He still likes me, He still wants to be with me more than to do with me.  

When that is "surrender," it is not so difficult after all.

For you... 

No need to comment; just think.  I know we don't all have these "I heard God audibly say..." moments very often (if at all).  This was one incredibly rare occurrence for me.  But what about you?  Is there some way in which God is whispering your name, luring you back to His heart?  What would it look for you to respond to His whisper?