The second inquiry of the book asks: how do I find that “still, small voice”? Have I heard God in the stillness of my soul? Have I been quiet enough to heed the message?

That small voice is the sacred compass, my connection to all that is. To seek its direction, I follow this practice. I quiet my mind. I become aware of my breath, aware of my life. The loud, distracting voice of my worry cries for my attention, and I acknowledge it. I let it be heard and then I let it be. It is the voice of my fear. For now, fear does not get my attention. It does not get my energy. For now I would like to attend to that smallest voice. The voice that is the thinnest whisper of wind. A voice that does not speak in words but speaks in Truth. Yes. I do believe I have heard. And I have listened.

But my quiet pockets of time are usually found just before bed when the day is done or just upon rising when the day is not yet begun. And my spaces of stillness are most often reserved spaces like meeting for worship and meditation. But what of the the times when I am fully in the midst of life? Times that are not still, nor quiet at all. How do I connect to my source then?

By being mindful of the present.

Being present is when I know myself and where I am within a moment. And I speak honestly from that space. Moments when I am not preoccupied with who I am becoming, but rather I am aware of who I am now. Moments when I do not bend my truth towards who I try to be, what I hope to be doing or even who I once was. I am not concerned with how I am perceived by others. Instead I am only in the moment. I am only in the moment. From that very particular stillness, I can hear the whisper. I speak words carried by the wind… frequently kind. And I act accordingly.