Before I started to school, I loved the sound of my voice, especially the high-pitched screams. I could shriek loud enough to make the window shades rattle, which was sure to prompt a voice from the kitchen. “Frankie, why don’t you play outside for a while.”I spent lots of time outside.
In high school, I learned to appreciate classic rock and roll. Elvis was my favorite. I’d turn up the volume on the radio until Daddy said, “Franklin, we’re not hard of hearing. Turn it down.”
As an adult, people call me Frank, but not to tell me to quit screaming or turn the volume down. I’m the one complaining at the restaurant because they won’t turn down the music and I can’t hear myself think.
Now I’m wondering what God thinks when I’m standing in church, needing ear plugs to lower the sound of the drums, the electric guitars, and microphones blaring at near a hundred decibels. I wonder if God is saying, “Would you turn it down a bit? I’m not hard of hearing.”
Maybe so, but I can’t be sure, since his still small voice can be hard to hear at a rock concert.

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