The young man had lost his job and didn't know which way to turn.
So he went to see the old preacher.
Pacing about the preacher's study, the young man ranted about his
problem. Finally he clenched his fist and shouted, "I've begged
God to say something to help me. Tell me, Preacher, why doesn't
The old preacher, who sat across the room, spoke something in
reply -- something so hushed it was indistinguishable. The young
man stepped across the room. "What did you say?" he asked.
The preacher repeated himself, but again in a tone as soft as a
whisper. So the young man moved closer until he was leaning on
the preacher's chair. "Sorry," he said. "I still didn't hear you."
With their heads bent together, the old preacher spoke once
more. "God sometimes whispers," he said, "so we will move
closer to hear Him."
This time the young man heard and he understood. We all want
God's voice to thunder through the air with the answer to our
problem. But God's is the still, small voice. . .the gentle
Perhaps there's a reason. Nothing draws human focus quite like
a whisper. God's whisper means I must stop my ranting and move
close to Him, until my head is bent together with His. And then,
as I listen, I will find my answer. Better still, I find myself closer