I was out and about in the big city of Winter Haven today doing some honey-dos. It appears that Mario Andretti comes over while I’m at work and drives my family around, burning up my brakes in the process. So I drop the van off and walk over to Wal-Mart to drop off a prescription, then head to the Christian bookstore where I got Velvet Elvis on sale for $9.99. What a bargain! It was near lunchtime as I walked back to Wal-Mart, so I stopped at a cuban bistro for lunch.

As I dipped my half-cuban in my garbanzo bean soup and read my book, I heard a voice. The man had looked slightly familiar, but his voice was unmistakable. Time had weathered his appearance, but not his voice. I immediately remembered who he was when I heard him speak.

Then something prophetic hit me. People say I have a memorable voice. If that’s true, then shouldn’t I be careful to make what I say count? If people are prone to remember what I sound like, shouldn’t my words be even more memorable? And if my words are to be memorable, then what about my actions?

Then I went twenty times deeper and started thinking about God’s voice. That still small voice I had heard as a child, and tried to ignore as a teenager. The one that finally wore me down as a young adult. That voice that I strain to hear through the static that is my life. What about that voice? What if I didn’t hear that voice as a child? Would I have been able to recognize it in my twenties? What about those in their twenties and thirties who don’t know God’s voice? Then God took me back to my voice and my actions.

I finished my cuban, then went over to say hello to the man. He remembered me, as well.

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