Beloved: Hard of Hearing

BELOVED: Hard of Hearing
When I first became, I was creatively woven together with bits of my mom and pieces of my dad, and stirred in, scraps and traces from their parents and their parents’ parents. Before I even came to be, there were fragments from generations found buried in my being. All of it, delicately wound together, pieced together, fragmented together, to constitute me. It reminds me of those Build-a-Bears; the little workshops kids make their way through as they create something out of almost nothing but a sheaf of fuzzy fabric. Little Sally picks a brown one, and maybe Tommy chooses tan, and before their very eyes—filled with joy, hope, and anticipation—a little creature becomes. By blowing stuffing into its shape and carefully placing a tiny heart in the creature’s chest cavity, a child can imagine they are bringing a friend to life. Once designed and upon creation, Sally and Tommy’s new stuffies can be dressed, named,and loved.
I was similar. Maybe my parents picked out names and dreamt of what their offspring might become: who I might resemble, how I might grow, who someday I might be. My parents hoped someone was going to become, but really it was God who chose it to be me. After a caricature of my mom and dad was designed, the God of the Universe blew His very breath into my lungs and caused my heart to beat like His. And He began knitting me together, weaving my insides, fashioning my exterior.

The Bible says in Psalm 139, v. 13-16, “You formed my innermost being, shaping my delicate inside and my intricate outside, and wove them all together in my mother’s womb. I thank You, God, for making me so mysteriously complex! Everything You do is marvelously breathtaking. It simply amazes me to think about it! How thoroughly You know me, Lord! You even formed every bone in my body when You created me in the secret place; carefully, skillfully You shaped me from nothing to something. You saw who You created me to be before I became me! Before I’d ever seen the light of day, the number of days You planned for me were already recorded in Your book.” (TPT)

That means He knew me. He fashioned me. He doodled me into existence, the outline of my life a blueprint from which He specifically constructed me. He conceived of me in the hidden space, tracing me, sketching me, drafting me by design, while I developed in the darkroom of my mother’s body. I wasn’t a mistake; I was planned. Even if we weren’t planned by our parents, we were planned by God! That thought startles and upends me, humbling me beyond my imagination, which He also creatively designed! He knows my thoughts, my decisions, even before I make them. His plans for me are good; not to harm me or hinder me, but always and eventually for my gain, long after I might stray.
So, is it any wonder that I would wander for an entire lifetime, until I heeded His voice, instead of that of any other, even my own?! I came to Christ as a little girl, four years old, at a backyard Bible Club. But like the Israelite children, I would wander for decades in a wilderness of my own making. Every deliverance the Lord caused in my life always found me off-course, complaining because I wanted to go back; going back, always a trap. We can talk the walk, and even walk the walk, but have it never suture itself down deep inside. Perhaps, there are many Christians today, just like me. You know of God, but you don’t know Him. You can have religion but have no relationship with the One who knit every fiber of your being perfectly in place to form you. And it is my earned belief that because of that, like me, you possibly wander too.
See, I believe, humanity listens. Maybe sometimes, not too well, but even if our hearing is poor, our soul listens within us. Recently, I thought about it: all those years when I wandered, I was simply not listening for His voice. I heard every other clamor there was to hear, but not Him. Doesn’t it make sense to you too, that if the God of the Universe who designed you and fashioned me, if He is the creator of us—forming us in the secret place, weaving us intricately, connecting, fastening, intertwining all of our bits and pieces to create one and only one me, one and only one you—wouldn’t it only pan out that we would remain lost until we listened for Him?
It took me too many years to listen, but when I finally did, it was like I had been found. It was as if I had finally come home, like all those years I meandered, at once mattered, because they brought me here, to Him, to the place where suddenly I belonged. And all the senseless years began to make sense. No longer was everything gibberish; no more did I feel out of place in my own skin. I could look down deep inside and I could see my Creator looking back at me, I could feel the Father gazing lovingly at me, and I could discern His plans for me. It is merely my opinion, but I intently am certain, at least for me, that until I heeded the voice of the One who formed me—the One who made me, who numbered the hairs on my head and details my days—I would never feel found or seen or heard, and I would never have come home.

Jeremiah 29:10-14, ‘This is God’s Word on the subject: “As soon as Babylon’s seventy years are up and not a day before, I’ll show up and take care of you as I promised and bring you back home. I know what I am doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. When you call on Me, when you come and pray to Me, I will listen. When you come looking for Me, you will find Me. Yes, when you get serious about finding Me and want it more than anything else, I will make sure you won’t be disappointed. I’ll turn things around for you. I’ll bring you back from all the countries into which I drove you, bring you home to the place from which I sent you off into exile. You can count on it. You can count on Me.”’ (MSG)