Maxine's Story
Life's Lessons: Listen
I like to think I am a good listener. I try to be and yet I'm aware there are plenty of sounds I 'tune out' completely. Even thought I live alone there is a cacophony of sounds that reach my ears; the hum and throb of various motors, my radio, television, stereo, computer, telephone. The appliances, furnace and the fans. The creaking and snapping of a shrinking house as it cools at night or expands in the heat of the day. Much of this I no longer hear---not even my refrigerator that sighs as it shuts off.
The dearest sounds to me are long gone---the voices of my small children, my husband with his noisy life style, his truck as it bounced into the driveway. The sounds of our various pets and animals we loved over the years of raising our family---they too are gone. The distant traffic noise remains as does the various sounds of nature, (most pleasing when I stop and take the time to really listen.) Yet the sound of the wind, especially at night, is not pleasant to me and though I would like to ignore it, cannot.
There is one sound I treasure above all the others. A sound spoken so quietly no one else could possibly hear and I find easy to ignore. It is the gentle whispering of the Holy Spirit to my inner ear. Most of the time it is only an impression---easily shrugged off and disregarded. But there have been a few times in my life when the voice has been clear and insistent. Like at the Ward campout almost thirty years ago. It was a beautiful camp ground a short distance from Portland, on a warm July weekend. Everyone headed for the small river to swim. The fatigue I dealt with and the pain in my legs precluded my joining the swimmers, so equipped with blanket and book I set off to enjoy the morning. My teenagers were off doing their own activities and had no need of my supervision.
Settling down in the shade of the trees, I was a little distance from the water. Failing to find interest in my book, I chose instead to just watch. The small beach was filled with families---parents and children of all ages, perhaps one hundred and fifty people---a busy place. Immediately my eyes were drawn to a little boy in red shorts---probably not yet three years old. In my mind came these words; "No one is watching this child".
Concerned observation proved this to be true---all the other children were being carefully cared for, but this little toddler was on his own. He played in the shallow water, in and out, moving downstream. He stumbled and nearly went down more than once. I knew I had to get up and move closer but the effort was too much and I sat there mesmerized---rationalizing that if he got into real trouble I could run and reach him in time.
Several minutes went by. The boy was moving farther away, toward the footbridge which spanned the river. Suddenly my friend Paul Roberts appeared. "How are you?" Quickly I pointed out the child and explained that no one was watching him---without hesitation Paul was off in giant strides, reaching the water's edge just as the boy completely disappeared! Paul never stopped---went into the water and searching under the bridge, found him and brought him up. Not one other person was even aware of what was taking place. Paul 'pumped' the water out and brought the crying boy to shore.
What we couldn't have known was the foundation of the footbridge created a solid surface---a floor---and at the end there was only a drop off, creating a very deep pool. No one else saw him---and I could not have reached him in time. Without Paul's arrival at that exact moment he would have surely drowned. We found his parents---sitting on their blanket even farther away than I was---drinking their six-pack. "He's OK" they said, "We're watching him." If it were today I would go to the authorities. In those days we felt helpless and not knowing what to do, did nothing.
I do not know his name, nor what he has done with his life. I do know, for whatever reason, he was not meant to die on that day. It took both of us---alone I would have failed. But it has given me much to contemplate over the years. How often have I ignored the prompting I've felt---and what consequences have been the result? Could I make a difference in another person's life if only I listen more carefully?
It was my intention to just skip the assignment for this week. I could not pin point one particular time to complete the sentence 'The time in my life when I felt the happiest .... I have had the desire to write about my experience in the campground for some time---but it was easily postponed. Spiritual experiences are personal and not lightly shared.
This past week I was impressed to just 'do it'. It is after all a part of my life story. Then as I began to write it occurred to me I was indeed fulfilling the assignment. The happiest times of my life have been and continue to be when my life is in harmony with the sweet prompting of the Holy Spirit, and I have the assurance that sometimes, even in my weak and inept way I can make a difference---if it is only a smile on the face of a friend---or a stranger.
'Oh Lord, make me an instrument in Thy hands ...
Let me hear what Thou would have me hear ...
Help me to do what Thou would have me do.'
This is my prayer.
Pages 109 - 112
Website by Maxine