Calling and Answering

The other night I was sitting on my patio enjoying a campfire at dusk. As I sat there, the fireflies began to emerge from wherever it is their lights hide during the daylight hours. Then, I began to hear two catbirds calling out to one another—each of them taking turns calling and answering. Calling and answering. Calling and answering. 

Their rhythm has stayed with me, though I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it's because so much of life is like that: Calling and answering. Calling and answering. We speak something into the quiet—sometimes with clarity, sometimes with longing, sometimes with nothing more than a deep sigh—and we hope that someone, somewhere, will answer back.
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I guess I shouldn't really be surprised, it is, after all, in our nature. From the moment we’re born, we are reaching out. Longing for connection. Hoping the voice we’ve sent into the dark will not return empty.

Even creation seems to know this truth. The catbirds call. The fireflies blink. The trees sway in time with the breeze, always in motion, always in response to the wind.

In the Psalms, we hear this rhythm too.
​     “I cry out loud to the Lord--
      I plead for mercy to the Lord.
      I pour out my complaints before God;
      I tell God my troubles.” (Psalm 142:1–2, CEB)
The psalmist doesn’t hold back. There’s no shame in the reaching and no apology in the call. There’s just honesty. Presence. The hope that God hears—and that maybe we’ll hear something back from the One we are always calling out to.

But here’s the thing I’m still learning–and maybe you are too: Sometimes the answer doesn’t come in the way we expect. It doesn’t always sound like a voice in the night or feel like a sign from above. Sometimes the answer comes as a bird in the trees. Sometimes it’s the warmth of firelight or the shimmer of a firefly. Sometimes it’s the breath we didn’t even realize we were holding finally releasing into the night.

I think God's like that. I don't have any hard and fast facts to this end, but–even still–I believe God is still answering us. Not always with fixes, but often with presence. Not always in clarity, but often in quiet companionship.

That night on the patio, I didn’t have any big epiphanies. No grand revelations. But I felt a kind of peace settle in—the kind that comes when you stop trying to control the conversation and instead simply join in. Call and answer. Call and answer. It’s what we’re made for.

So this week, if you’re calling out—keep calling. If you’re listening—listen closely. Somewhere, in ways small and holy, the Spirit is always echoing back–always answering–always finding us–even in the dark.

On the journey with you,
Pr. Melissa

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