After my Hunny stepped through the veil of life on Earth, I wondered if I could hear Father again. It had been 2 years since I stepped away from my desk and my daily routine of talking to him. The noise and clutter of TV and life were my new habits and this transition wasn’t easy. There were times I had to tell Hunny I needed a few minutes alone. He was never anything but accepting. He even told me I didn’t need to sit with him all the time. But Father had told me to do it and that I’d regret it if I didn’t.

He was completely right because after Hunny exited, I was overwhelmed with gratitude that I had made that switch and spent my days with him. I knew him with such intimate detail that my new barrage of choices and decisions was so much easier. I knew exactly what Hunny would have said and done. No question.

It was after the flurry of activity subsided, that period when everyone went back to their lives and the house got quiet, that I wondered if I could still hear Father’s voice. It seemed so long ago that we’d had a long conversation. And I didn’t know how to start. The noise from Hunny’s routine flooded the air and my thoughts because I’d gotten so accustomed to it. It was easier to keep that going. To keep doing things the same way.

I didn’t know how to change back to my old routine. It felt foreign now. But nine months later that changed when my medical journey began.

It was that first night in the hospital room staring at Pikes Peak as the sun set and the city lights came on. I was in shock again. And this time I did not know the answers. This time I needed to have a conversation with Father. Otherwise, I was more alone than I’d ever been.

So, I remembered my old advice to people who’d ask me how I began hearing Father’s voice. I’d tell them about the way I began. I was a part-time subcontracting courier at the time. It was my way of decompressing after an 8-year stint in a high-pressure business position. Light responsibility and light hours now. I loved it, even during Denver’s rush hour traffic.

One day, while considering that I was just as worthy of hearing Father’s voice as the prophets in the Bible, I had an idea. It was to simply begin talking to him all the time about everything no matter how menial. I had a Bluetooth in my ear to keep my hands free for driving, therefore if anyone heard me talking and looked at me oddly, I’d point to the Bluetooth. Everyone was doing it.

Instead of thinking to myself, I talked out loud softly. For instance, “Well, it’s getting to be lunchtime. What do I want today? There’s Taco Bell. Nah, something lighter. I’m not very hungry. Maybe just an iced tea and some fries. So, probably just drive through Burger King. Do you think that’s good?” I’d ask. No answer but that was okay. It might take a while.

I’m honestly not sure how many days I did this before I heard him reply. But I remember it was a day I decided to talk about something that truly concerned me.

Hunny’s aunt was the executor of his dad’s estate, and she was stealing it blind with daily cash withdrawals. We’d retained an attorney but it was dragging on and on as the estate slowly dwindled. My biggest concern was my heart. I was beginning to feel something akin to hate toward her. And I knew that would only hurt me in the long run. So as I babbled out the details, I finally said, “Father, how do you feel about what she’s doing?” And immediately I heard that quiet little voice coming from somewhere different than my thoughts.

“I love her as much as I love you.”

I wasn’t as shocked at getting an answer as I was in the content. “HOW? How can you love someone who’s doing something so wrong and affecting others in the process of their selfishness? I mean I really can’t get that!”

There was no reply. And I knew somehow instinctively that was because I was livid with anger. He wasn’t going to argue with me. But that didn’t stop my tirade until I’d expended it completely.

I finally ended with, “If I really have to love her then you are going to have to put it inside me. I don’t have it on my own and I’m probably not going to be able to work into it for a long time.”

It was silent again for a minute as I finally began calming down, but then he said, “Let me tell you how she grew up as a small girl grabbing and sneaking any piece of food she could see because she was starving. It was the Great Depression and there was little food for the poor. So she learned how to survive by being nice to people with money until they trusted her. Then they’d begin giving her things. That’s what she began doing 2 years ago with her brother. She rationalized that he had more money than any of his family needed, and he was getting feeble. His time wasn’t long.”

I drove in silence for quite some time. Not wanting to feel any understanding for this aunt, I fought away the little visions that had accompanied his words into my mind.

This was the way conversation with Father had begun back then. And now fast forward to this shocking aloneness in a hospital room. I wasn’t adjusted to life without Hunny physically by my side, and now I was facing several months of surgeries, some chemo and radiation, and lots of healings in between. All without Hunny’s hand holding mine. So, as I tried talking a bit out loud softly in my dark room, I listened for Father.

This time his voice was even softer than before. Almost unnoticeable. But it came with a heart fluctuation. The urgent stress of the situation was replaced with a sweet, loving…almost a gentle stroke…along with the words, “This is nothing. It’ll be quick and easy. And I’ll be with you guiding it every moment.”

I breathed deeply and sighed. “Oh, thank you, Father. Oh, thank you.” And as I stared at the city’s twinkling lights with the mountains silhouetted behind, I knew. I knew this would be nothing. Nothing at all.

He’d said it would be quick and easy. And I believed his words with a quiet but immovable assurance. It was my guarantee.

Finally, I knew that the dam of silence was broken. He’d never left me as I’d sat with Hunny for 2 years. He’d never moved. Not one inch.

This is the only thing I need. The only thing.

But I must also say, that with his words come everything else. He changes everything. Everything. And it’s so different than how things change regularly amidst noise and chaos. His words come softly and peacefully. They can be quick too, but mostly they can be completely missed…completely…if we aren’t, inside, perked up, to listen and catch it.

It’s kind of like the way the snow is falling right now. So softly it doesn’t move a hair, and so quietly it can barely be heard.

Faith