Listening in a grove of aspens



I just read a poem by my friend Tim Riter in which he writes of hearing God in whispers. And I must admit that for me, I hear God primarily in those whispers. 

And it took me back to last night during my nightly call with my wife. We were chatting about things over the phone while I sat in a comfortable chair in my bedroom. From my chair I could see a photograph of mine hanging on the wall, a photograph of some aspen trees, taken in a grove that I love to visit every fall when I'm up in the eastern Sierra. And sitting there I realized that I needed to write about this grove, about the photograph, but more importantly, I needed to write about the place, and what it means to me. 

As Tim writes in his poem, 

"how many whispers have I missed
              listening for the shout?"

And I can attest to that: to my own experience hearing those whispers in the cacophony of sound that surrounds us daily. Our phones incessantly chirping, buzzing or ringing to alert us to the latest text message, voice mail, email or call. Our station of choice on the car stereo, whether it's news, music, or streaming Pandora or Spotify. Then the noise at home from family members wanting your attention, wanting to share their day. We get so involved in listening (or really hearing) so much noise, that even if God DID shout, would we hear?

That's why I trust the whispers. When one whispers, it draws attention to them louder than shouts. How many of us might be turned off by a friend or coworker who is loud or boisterous, but if we witness a couple of friends whispering, and that whispering ceases as we approach - well, aren't we just a bit curious? What were they discussing? Did it involve me? Was it some juicy gossip? Whispers catch our attention, and pique our curiosity. 

So, when God whispers, I tend to listen. As I shared with Tim on his Facebook post, I've heard God shout in the "Sanctus" from the Durufle "Requiem", when nearly 400 singers were so loud that the choir director had to keep asking the organist to get louder so the organ could be heard. But I've more experienced God in the whispers, and I have found that there are many places and times God whispers to me: the early mornings when the house is quiet is one of my favorite times to listen to Him.

But God also whispers to me in specific places: places where my soul is attentive and receptive to those whispers. Such is this place, this grove of aspen trees. It is a beautiful grove, and even though I've primarily seen it in the fall, I'm sure that it's just as spectacular now in the summer, or in the depths of winter when it is blanketed by snow. I've experienced this in other groves of aspens, like the one in northern Arizona that arched over a clearing and gave me the sense that I was in a chapel of aspen trees; or the grove on the hillside near Ophir, Colorado. A grove my dad and I dubbed the "Magic Place" on our 1990 trip because while all the other surrounding aspen groves had lost their leaves due to a fall snowstorm, this grove was abundant in the shimmering gold of leaves - aspen leaves. 

I trust the whispers. And I go to these places so I can hear those whispers - intentionally. I walk in there, without my camera, because I wish to listen to what the trees, and what God, wish to say to me. 

What they and He say to me in soft, gentle, whispers. 

Comments

Tim Riter said…
John, you have captured the poem beautifully. Just 2 weeks ago, I camped in the midst of an aspen grove in the eastern Sierras. Thanks for sharing this my friend!

Popular Posts