The store was jammed. It seemed as if everyone in Singapore had decided that this was the place to be on the weekend. As I wrestled my way through my nerves began to fray. I knew I needed a single item. I also knew that it was on sale for a single day. Even though I was only a few minutes in, I was already wondering if the deeply discounted price was worth the emotions that I was going through.
As I struggled, I heard the voice. I knew I was not hearing the K-pop legends playing in front of the store. I was confident that nobody had intentionally put this sound on for the benefit of the shoppers. The sound was a young boy, screaming at the top of his lungs. Any parent could recognize the voice. There was no fear. There was no uncertainty. The voice was full of anger, frustration, and stubbornness. There was no confusion about this temper tantrum. It was full on, out there for anyone to see and for one set of parents to deal with.
In the spirit of the child, it was all about me. The kid obviously thought so. I knew so! This was not what I needed. The sound was not helpful. Just when the edge of my nerves were fraying beyond my control, one of the parents looked at the boy with a steady resolve, said something most of us could not hear, and he was silent. No talkback, no rebuttal, no response. What remained was a silent look. For a long moment, it did not change.
I am more like that child than I care to admit. Even if the exterior is quiet, my heart and head are screaming. “Listen, God, I’m calling at the top of my lungs: “Be good to me! Answer me!”” (Psalm 27.7) When I stop, I hear a whisper and realize God is all around me. Divinity’s answer is in beauty, wonder, and friends. I realize God was here before I let lose. Looking and listening makes a different.
