In a marriage group this week I invited people to spill about their still, small voice. This is that indefensible intuition that shows up when we most need it. As a mother, I am familiar with the urge to toss clues when my children are tired, or confused. How could I do otherwise? If I have a stepping stone that might halve the distance between where they are and where they hope to be, I will bend to the earth to place it. Brush the moss aside so that it is easily visible. 

 

God does this for each of us. One of the people in the group described their inner guidance as personal, and non transferable. This resonates for me. Another expressed how they cannot always know how this will turn out, when they comply with their perception. Yet the vulnerability of trust seems to be the soil in which it can grow. 

 

My perception has directed me in surprising directions. Paths I would not have been able to predict. And yet the luxury of looking back confirms for me that it is worth listening to. The scenario I shared was one that has repeated over time. Parenting a special needs son has beckoned me into unfamiliar places. While I might think I am competent when it comes to raising kids, Benjamin has different needs. At several junctures in his education and therapy, a directive arrived. 

 

"Ask this woman if she would consider being Ben's support person." 

 

What followed was four years of laughter and progress. 

 

Another time I was invited to visit a possible classroom for him that was half an hour away. I scoffed at such a scenario, in which I would spend two hours a day driving him. But when I arrived, the voice was unmistakable. He needed to be here. That teacher blessed him deeply, even bending the rules to keep him in the program longer than is usually allowed. 

 

The future has curtains, where I might wish for visibility. But maybe that is how trust takes root.