The Quiet Voice

The boys played their first baseball game last week, and it quickly became apparent that it was their first time in a sport where the coach provides live instructions during the game. In swimming, there’s a private chat before a race, a private chat afterwards, and some cheering during the race. But in baseball, the coach actively tells the players what to do on a play by play basis. And that’s how Eli found himself playing third base with a player from the opposing team running in his direction, and a coach yelling at him to tag the base, then throw to first. Unfortunately, another parent was screaming, “Don’t go back to third!” And several more were screaming, “Just throw to first!” And the mother of the kid running toward third, who was probably closer to Eli than anyone else, was screaming, “Go BACK! Go BACK!”

And Eli? He froze. And then he did a funny little dance where he took a step back and forth in both directions several times before he finally heard the coach’s voice and threw his best throw to first.

It’s a YMCA coach-pitch baseball game. They don’t even keep score. It was no big deal. But as I watched his confusion, it occurred to me that things would have been vastly different if he’d clearly known his coach’s voice.

His problem wasn’t just the conflicting voices being thrown in his direction. He was struggling because he’s only known his coach for one week. That’s definitely not enough time to pick out his coach’s command from a chorus of competing noises.

It takes time to learn a voice. To be able to pick that voice out of the crowd. To know which voice is trustworthy. For me, the voice I need to listen for is God’s voice. But instead, I’ve spent 40 years listening to others: my parents, my childhood church, bosses and co-workers, and most of all, my husband. Some of those voices are fun to listen to because they say good things. But others have taught me everything I need to know about shame. They’ve controlled me. They’ve stood in the way of hearing the truth about God, and they’ve replaced it with a twisted interpretation.

One of the loudest voices is the one that sleeps next to me, and that voice isn’t kind. It tells me I have to earn love, that I need to do more, more, and still more. That my worth is tied to the amount of work that I do, the amount of money I bring in, the size of my waist. Over the years, those lies have only increased, and while I know on some level that I’m being fed lies, that voice is relentless.  It wakes me up and keeps me up when I try to sleep. It’s present constantly, either in person or over text. Every once in awhile, that voice feeds me something pleasant, but the lies always come back.

But in the last year and a half, as God has used mentors and my counselor to turn my eyes back to God’s Word, I’ve begun to hear His voice more clearly than ever before. It’s a daily battle, and I can’t tell you that my husband’s words don’t leave me shaking and hurting…because they still do. But there’s another voice I’m learning to hear in the midst of all the noise.

It’s a voice that promises to protect and provide for me. It tells me that there’s value in me, value that God put there, that I don’t have to earn. It tells me that I can rest. I can hope. It tells me not to hide the hurt anymore, and invites me to open my hands and give that hurt to my heavenly Father.

It’s a moment by moment choice to remember which voice I should hear. Sometimes I forget, but the daily barrage of negativity ensures that I have plenty of time to learn a new rhythm of listening. It's beginning to become a reflex instead of an intentional choice. It's a new way of thinking…one that I’ve needed to learn for years.

I’m profoundly grateful for this growth that I’ve cried out to God for. But at the same time, I’m exhausted and not sure where to go from here. Some days I just want to go to sleep for a month and deal with it when I wake up. Other days, I want to throw more of myself into more work and end this marriage once and for all. Most days, I worry about the impact of his persistent abuse on my children. And I can’t figure out how to protect the kids. I’ve hit a wall, and all I can do is listen. For the voice I need to hear.