The young woman had lost her job, her husband, her security. She didn't know which way to turn. So she went to see the old preacher.
Pacing about the preacher's study, the young woman ranted about her problems. Finally she clenched her fist and shouted, "I've begged God to say something to help me. Tell me, Preacher, why doesn't God answer?"
The old preacher, who sat across the room, spoke something in reply—something so hushed it was indistinguishable. The young woman stepped across the room. "What did you say?" she asked.
The preacher repeated himself, but again in a tone as soft as a whisper. So the young woman moved closer until she was leaning on the preacher's chair. "Sorry," she 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 woman heard and she understood.We all want God's voice to thunder through the air with the answers to our problem. But God's is the still, small voice, the gentle whisper.
Perhaps there's a reason. Nothing draws human focus quite like a whisper. God's whisper means I must stop my ranting and move closer 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 to God.