Some know not the sound of His voice.
But how shall it be described...
For at times it is as a soft breeze rustling through leaves
But others as a rushing wind exerting power on what doesn't bend.
It's like the soft trickle of water as it sings across small pebbles
Or it is like strong waves that beat and crash against the shore.
Like spring showers that tenderly patter on leaf and petal
And then as forceful torments in sheets that flood.
In solitude and serenity is where it is heard, in the silence
As a still small voice, a whisper in the garden.
Like food for the soul and nourishment to the spirit of the one He loves.
Easily remembered and craved in times when He is quiet.
Amy Rainey 7/7/09
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