Wednesday,
Dr. Johnson challenged us to a new (to me) practice from lunch until
evening. It is called Simplicity of
Speech. It is a discipline which calls
for using few words, wisely and with godly intention and fullness of
meaning. As our morning session
concluded and we all prepared for lunch, the most prevalent sound was the
silence that filled the space around the tables for the first few minutes of dining. Many of us were wary of speaking in ways that
could be characterized by something other than simplicity. Gradually, someone at one of the tables would
venture a comment, then someone else, until we had all relaxed slightly and
engaged in some light conversation. The
people with whom I ate spoke most frequently of their motives, and said little
else but to explain why they felt particularly prone to reticence at the table.
Retrospectively,
I am intrigued that silence preceded our discussion. It signifies to me that, in some large part,
many of us think that we say too much to begin with. If we were somewhat assured that our speech
was worth listening to, or at least that we spoke as well as we knew how, then
I would venture to say that we would not alter our pattern much. So, then, either we actually do not know how
to speak well, or else we are evidently going against our consciences most of
the time we open our mouths. “Grace-filled,
simple speech is critical yet extremely difficult.”[1] That we embraced silence first, tells me that
we recognize the truth of this statement all too well. Looking to God then, I am beginning to
understand that just as lover’s delight in one another’s attributes, so also lovers value one another’s words.
Dr.
Johnson mentioned throughout the course that the apparent theme for the week
was “Trust Me.” Within that framework, I
was mainly reminded that God speaks. In each of the lecture sessions, one of us
would ask her a question about discernment of either God’s voice to us or God’s
wisdom for us in the decision-making process.
She would offer helpful insights from her life, which we were also able
to read in one of her books, When the Soul Listens. After she had given these advices, though,
she would say, “Ask God.” The first
couple of times I heard it, I pondered the statement intellectually, as I
mentioned earlier. “Yes,” I thought to
myself, “we should ask God. He knows
everything, and is able to reveal Himself and great truths to us if we will but
seek Him with a listening heart.” With
each session, and each time I heard those two words from her mouth, my
intellect began to invite my emotions into my inner conversation. “What would it be like if I went to God with
my questions? What would happen in His
presence? Could He—would He—speak to me
about the details of my life? What if He
answered me and what would it be like to enter into conversation with
God?” As my intellect and emotions were
thus engaged, naturally my will joined in.
“Should I ask God? Of course I
should. When should I do that? Right now, obviously, and always. Why have I not done so before?”
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