I have felt the sharp sting of tragedy and the awe of an impossible miracle. And since await the next dark valley or mountain top.  However none has come, no shouts of thunder or crackeling of lightening. Just a still small voice, a whisper, a gentle turn of the face, with many light touches directing my way. 

If it were not for the tragedy or miracle I don't think I would hear that whisper.  It has been the experiencing the worst and best that have made me listen intently for his quiet words.  They keep me on his path, the path he has outlined for me.  I walk along watching for the dark valleys or mountain tops knowing full well they are on the map. Looking out for thunder and lightening knowing he can call out with great strength and brightness. 

Since the tragedy and miracle the years have gone by and all I hear is whispering.  However I must say he needn't be loud for me. I listen for him all day long.