Tip of My Iceberg

Christmas is coming. And it’s getting noisy.

Walking into stores of any kind, there’s a crescendo of sound that always seems to accompany Christmas. Kids loudly pointing out what they want. Folks talking over the din. Laughter. Cheery holiday greetings.

And the music. The wonderful Christmas music. The same songs played over and over, but I’ve not tired of them yet.

I love it all.

As calming as Thanksgiving is, there’s an energy to the Christmas season that catches me up and sails me along on the waves of Christmas joy. It’s a seasonal upper.

I recognize the noise only after I’m out of it. When I get back home and there’s no one there.

I combat the quiet with a new toy John got for his birthday.

Her name is Alexa.

She’s this delightful gizmo that you talk to and tell her to do things. Playing specific songs. Louder. Quieter.

I talk to her quite a bit when I’m alone. I tell her to play a song, and I most likely will change my mind and want another one part way through the first verse.

Because I can.

I’ve seen the commercial where you can hook her up to the specifics of the house and have her turn on sprinklers and turn off lights. I’m not that technologically talented.

I don’t care.

I just want her to play my music.

When the grands were over Thanksgiving weekend, they were yelling over each other, trying to tell Alexa to play their song. Sydney would ask for “Eye of the Tiger”. She’d be interrupted by Isley who asked for “Uptown Funk”.

Two-year-old Ryken would stand on the chair and get as close to Alexa as possible. His enunciation is a bit creative and his voice is quiet, but he would consistently ask for “Frosty the Snowman.”

Alexa, being a kind, thoughtful technological device, would tell him she couldn’t understand the question and would continue playing whatever had been on.

Ryken persisted. Someone would ask for him, and Frosty would be played. His face lit up like the Christmas tree.

His highlight came when Alexa finally understood what he said, and he was able to get Frosty to play–all by himself.

Quiet persistence is often the best voice to listen to.

It’s easy to fill my head, my space, with noise. Sometimes I do it for the sheer fun of the energy of loud.

Other times I do it because I want to ignore whatever is bothering my mind.

Jesus uses that still, quiet voice to speak to me often. I don ‘t hear Him say words, but I know the things I’ve learned to be true, and He reminds me when I’m straying, when I know better.

The enemy of my soul, the devil, speaks in a loud, insistent voice that refuses to be tuned out. Demanding my attention.

What he says is lies. Things that aren’t true about me anymore.

It’s easier to listen to the loud than tune in to the soft.

It’s easier to believe the lies than to hold fast to the truth.

I’m choosing to listen to Jesus. What He says I am. To ignore the lies of the one who wants to see me destroyed.

It’s not easy. But Jesus hears. Better than Alexa.

Jesus, remind me of that truth again, will You?