Last night all of us girls were in the kitchen. My daughter and granddaughter were at the island counter, and the Grandest Baby was playing something on her DVD player–probably Pippi Longstocking. My daughter was getting ice from the refrigerator, and I was washing dishes and running water in the sink. I also had a video playing on the computer, some man talking about wedding photography. So it was a noisy, messy, happy night.
And then I heard–no, felt–my husband’s car pull up outside. “Dad’s home,” I announced, and my daughter looked at me with disbelief on her face. “How do you know that?” She stepped to the window and looked outside. “He IS home, but how could you hear that?”
“After thirty-three years of listening for him, I know when he’s out there,” I answered. “No matter what car it is, I just know it.”
Later today I thought about the analogy . . . how we listen for those we love with our ears always tuned to the sound of their arrival or their voices. It’s how a mother can wake from a deep sleep when her baby stirs in his crib down the hall. It’s how I can wake when I hear one of my puppies scratch at the door (but don’t tell my hubby, because sometimes I play dead).
And then I thought about the parable of the ten virgins, five wise and five foolish. The five wise had oil in their lamps and were listening for his approach; the foolish virgins weren’t prepared. So it’s a safe bet they weren’t listening, either.
Do we love the Lord so much that we are tuned to the sounds of his approach? Sometimes I think I hear him assembling the angelic army . . . and sometimes I think I can hear the archangel puffing out his cheeks, getting ready to blow the trumpet that will wake the sleeping believers and summon all of us to Jesus’ side.
Yes, I’m listening. And I don’t think it will be long.