Thought Tapestries

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What a morning.
We were packing for a quick, one-night trip out of town, which meant my time was tightly rationed. I was trying to squeeze in my morning study on Matthew 18, desperately attempting not to hurry. But you know exactly how it is when the clock is ticking, the suitcases are waiting, and you’re trying to get a house ready for the road.
Smack dab in the middle of this rushing, I hit the text where Peter asks, “Lord, how many times should I forgive?”
And wouldn’t you know it? Right on cue, the Lord gave me the perfect, real-time opportunity to practice. Something minor went wrong in the pre-trip chaos, my temper flared, and anger surged. I was studying forgiveness on a tight schedule, and failing the practical application before I could even close the book.
Defeated and still feeling that internal static, I went to brush my teeth.
Now, you need to understand one small fact about me: I don’t do a very good job of brushing my teeth. It bores me. So, normally, I distract myself. I pull out my phone and scroll, filling those two empty minutes with noise so I don’t have to just stand there.
But this morning, cutting right through the mental rush and the irritation, that Still Small Voice spoke out.
“Leave your phone aside and listen to me.”
It was clear. Direct. So, I did. I set the phone on the counter and started brushing.
My first thought was a bit self-satisfied: “Okay, God. Here I am. I’m listening.”
But almost instantly, a humbling second thought followed: “God is not a dog on a leash, Marc. He doesn’t just jump and perform the moment you decide to command His attention.”
At that exact moment, the profound irony of the situation hit me. The lesson was so clear, so immediate, that my immediate human instinct was to panic. I wanted to put my toothbrush down, run to my desk, and start writing it all down. If you know me, you know I have a terrible memory. I just knew that if I didn’t capture it right then, the rush of the trip would wash it away.
Then, the Voice spoke a second time: “Leave that to me. I can do the remembering.”
So I breathed. I finished brushing my teeth in the quiet. And now, sitting here before we hit the road, the memory is perfectly intact, and I am writing this down for you.

From the Thunder to the Whisper

Just last night, I had the privilege of preaching a sermon on the Book of Ezekiel. If you’ve ever studied Ezekiel, you know it is a massive, cinematic symphony. It begins with the thunderous, terrifying roar of judgment. But as you journey through the chapters, that roar is replaced by an equally dominant—no, an even more dominant—thunder of redemption.
At the end of the book, it starts as the smallest of whispers, a trickling stream, and swells until Glory returns, God’s presence fills the temple, and the city is given a new name: Yahweh Shammah—The Lord is There.
Last night, I preached on a God who fills the cosmos with the thunder of His redemption. But this morning, that exact same Yahweh Shammah—the God who is there—showed up over a porcelain sink. He didn’t arrive in a rushing cloud of glory; He was just standing by the mirror, asking me to put my phone down.

The Tragedy of Our Distractions

We live in a world of chronic distraction. We fill every crack and crevice of our day with noise. We scroll while we wait in line, we listen to podcasts while we walk, and we stare at screens while we brush our teeth. Then, we have the audacity to complain that God doesn’t speak into our lives anymore.
We lament His silence, but the truth is, we are just profoundly deafened by our own noise.
The next time you find yourself thinking that God is distant, or that He doesn’t answer your prayers, take a look at what’s in your hand. Realize that He might just be talking to you the whole time.
You might just be too distracted to hear Him.
He is there. Even at the bathroom sink. We just have to leave the phone aside, bear under the quiet, and listen.