This was Lily, my anxious boxer. We walked most morning. For me it was exercise, for Lily it was socializing and hunting. Lily fancied herself a great hunter of rabbits. From my perspective, we stood a lot staring at rabbits, but it was important to her.
A curious teamship evolved between the two of us. I realized when the wind was away from us, Lily couldn’t smell the rabbits that I could see. So I would say “did you see that?” or “is that a bunny?” of even just call her name “Lily.” Instantly, in a moment to small to measure, Lily would stop and search. She listened to me. Now this wasn’t all the time. Many instances in the house when I called her, she wouldn’t answer or step into view. She wasn’t listening, or she assumed that what I was saying was of no value, she never actually shared which. But when we were walking, bunny hunting, she listened.
It’s probably that way with God. I suspect, rather strongly, that God has much more to say, than I have listened for. It would seem that a loving God would communicate with greater frequency than we receive, except for the fact that we probably aren’t being all that receptive. What might actually happen if we listened more closely? Were more aware? That if our attentiveness to God were as aware as my Lily’s attentiveness to bunny hunting.
Might that be a thin place?