Listening to the Small, Still Voice

I hear it from others,

As they ask for help.

And the answer is always yes,

Even though I leave others alone by answering this call.

 

They call from the corner of the room,

Wanting my attention,

As if only, the only one in the world,

To the exclusion of all others.

 

Oh, discernment, where were you this day,

When I threw my clothes on the ground,

Like St. Francis and the bishop,

Answering a call to go somewhere without direction.

 

For the answer I make is only a response,

Perhaps selfish, maybe not.

Automated; all I can do is listen and hear,

And hope it is the will of God.

 

For the tugging and the longing is ever present,

There is more to do than seems possible,

Yet, when I go, giving the spare tunic of time and love,

It always seems to work out.

 

When I hear the small, still voice.

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