I’m trying to pay better attention to God in the ordinary. I want to notice his spontaneous nudges in my heart to extend his compassion to others.

When he whispers his love for the people around me, I want to be quick to listen.

I’ll confess, though. I just missed one of his whispers. Because sometimes I’m too slow.

I’m like my own kids when they were young. I asked them to unload the dishwasher while I did the last minute preps for supper. But they were slow to listen. They heard everything else I said from the kitchen. Why didn’t they hear that? Why are they still on the couch?

Now I’m still sitting comfortably on the plane in first class. I’m the young daughter who is slow to listen. There was a nudge in my heart, like a faint whisper, “Give her your seat.” But I wasn’t quick to listen.

I whispered back quickly. “What? What if she doesn’t really want it? (Duh, who wouldn’t?! I had no problem with the free upgrade.) But she’s with her family. And my seat belt is buckled.”

I stalled. I overthought it. And the moment passed. She already shuffled too far past me.

I’m bummed I missed this chance. I wasn’t quick to listen. I was quick to talk back. Slow to hear his spontaneous whisper.

It happened last week too. I drove past a lady standing in the grass beside the small bus stop sign. I don’t usually notice the sign, much less the people standing beside it. But that day, I saw her between the swishes of my windshield wipers.

There was a nudge in my heart, “Pull over. Give her your umbrella.” But again, I was slow to listen. She was in my rearview mirror quicker than I responded to his whisper.

But that time I could turn around. It wasn’t a quick turn around. I took enough time to talk back to God first. “It will probably stop raining before I get back to her.”–that was actually likely since a rainy day in Abilene lasts 10 minutes. “And the bus will probably beat me.” –not so likely since the bus shows up about as frequent as a West Texas rain cloud.

Quick to listen. Slow to speak.

It took me a few blocks of listening. Or talking back. Then the gas station was an invitation for a quick u-turn. I returned to the bus stop, if you can call it that. There’s no bench, much less a covering. Just the simple sign. And a simple lady, about my age. Standing in the rain.

She didn’t accept the umbrella. She said the bus would be there soon.

“I told you so,” almost slipped out of my heart to my Heavenly Father. But then I remembered, “Slow to speak.”

Maybe he knew she wouldn’t take the umbrella. Maybe he just wanted her to know she was seen. Or maybe he was giving me practice. Practice to respond to his spontaneous nudges.

Quick to listen. Slow to speak.

My flight is beginning the descent now. I’ve been offered drinks. Nuts. Basil chicken. Cookies. Even a warm rag. I didn’t take any of it though – except for the biscotti cookie, I love those!—because I grabbed a toasted sandwich in terminal B before I knew I’d get bumped up.

Instead, I’ve been chewing on what it means to be quick to listen. And slow to speak. Especially with my Heavenly Father.

I want to hear God’s spontaneous love whispers for others. It starts with grasping his love for me. It continues with his love for others.

The more I understand his love for me, it makes me want to lean in a little closer to hear his love whispers for others.

Quick to listen. Slow to speak.

I’ve given my kids plenty of second chances. Now they help before I even ask. Thankfully, our Heavenly Father lovingly gives second chances too.

I’m going to keep listening for his love whispers–to me, and for others.

Will you join me? Will you lean in closely to hear the nudges in your heart?

For the moment, it’s time for me to listen for my connecting flight.

May you be quick to listen to your Heavenly Father’s love whispers.