I Am Still Here, Buzz

by | May 27, 2001 | Presence, Trials, Worry

It was a little thing, insignificant really, and yet I had gotten my feelings hurt; and yes, I was angry, even though I knew it wasn’t worth getting angry about. My wife, Belle, had done something that involved both of us equally, but she acted completely independently, without my knowledge or approval, and when I found out about it, I felt ignored, uncared for, wiped out, and of no influence. We all have our place of greatest vulnerability, and for some reason this one is mine. I have visited it on too many occasions during my lifetime, almost always over matters of little or no consequence; and it always has gotten me in trouble, big trouble, usually in the form of a massive argument (or more like open warfare, actually). I was not prepared to enter into another one of those, so, without voicing my feelings, I announced that I was going uptown to do some errands, and off I went, still fuming.

The sun was just going down, and as I was driving along, the view on my right suddenly opened up to reveal the most beautiful sunset I have seen in a long while. I stopped the car to gaze at it. The Eastern sky was like liquid gold, and it was so brilliant and vivid that I just sat there, fascinated by it.

And then, from the depths of my being, I heard a quiet voice say these words as clearly as if they had been spoken audibly: “I am still here, Buzz.” Immediately, everything that had been magnified and distorted in my mind, and had become seemingly so important to me, snapped back into its proper proportions; and I just sat there in wonder and awe at the blazing beauty and magnificent majesty of our wondrous and wonderful God, who loves me personally and individually so much that he would literally and unmistakably speak to me, to bring me out of the darkness of my anger and hurt. It was one of those too rare moments when I knew the close presence of God so clearly and so surely, that I could almost tangibly feel him, not just next to me, but inside me, a part of me in a way that defies description. I smiled at the folly of my anger and hurt, and I determined not to make such a foolish mistake again.

So much for human determination, for I, of course, have slipped back into my folly many times since; but it doesn’t happen as often now, and the thunder clouds are no longer so dark and impenetrable, and I hear that voice from within sooner than before: “I am still here, Buzz.”

Stephen B. Elmer buzz@c4.net


I Am Still Here, Buzz