I awoke early to the sound of tweeting ... Not from a sleepless president but from an exotic bird. In the heart of Los Angeles, a mile or two from the famous Hollywood sign, the predominant sound at 5 am was neither traffic nor siren, but birdsong.
Three hours later, when Mhairi required silence in order to record a job from her tiny sound studio, the street sweeper roared up the street, water sloshing and brushes sweeping and engine grinding. A frustrated driver revved his engine impatiently. A helicopter crept past, hovering, rotor swirling noisily. A neighbourhood dog barked and the neighbour shouted at it. In the cacophony of an awakening city, the birdsong was lost.
I hear God's voice most clearly when I sit and wait on him in the silence of my room. When I look for his highlighted message in the Bible reading I am doing. When I walk out in nature and observe, guided by the Holy Spirit.
As my day roars into action, His voice can be drowned out by the demands of others, by mindless activity or even tedious news reports on the radio. But his voice, like the birdsong, continues to sing over me, guiding me in the way I should go, if only I will take the time to discern him.
Now I sit in the hubbub of Los Angeles International Airport departure lounge, awaiting a call to board the flight to London. As I walk among the crowds, settle into a seat, prepare for takeoff, I ask for sharp spiritual ears, so I don't miss anything from my Saviour.
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