For ten years, I listened daily to heartbeats. Heartbeats of babies as they were formed in the darkness. Heartbeats of their mothers, too, dreams and fears and longings. I was on holy ground, witness to the quiet creation of new life.
These days, illness keeps me out of the clinic. I no longer use a stethoscope or an ultrasound machine. But still I listen.
Sometimes I hear only the whisper of my own heart, the urgent longing to be fully alive. I hear that cry deep in the groans and prayers and laughter of others too.
But when I’m given the grace to be still, when the noise without and within is quieted, I hear the heartbeat of the One who knit me together and placed in me this longing for Life and Freedom. He whispers “come,” “rest,” “be whole.” He reminds me who He is and who I am. Again I find myself on holy ground, witness to the growing of new life within.
This place is about listening for God’s heartbeat. It’s about longing and life and the joy that seeps into places of brokenness. It’s about reaching and seeking and discovering that the One whom I seek is seeking me.
I’d love it if you’d join me in listening for God’s heartbeat.
P.S. I’ve already told you the most important things about me, but it’s customary in places like this to give you a few more details to help you choose whether to join me in listening.
Six months after I finished my training as an obstetrician/gynaecologist (a woman’s doctor), I moved to Pakistan, then on to Afghanistan where I lived for over four years, working in a little mud-brick hospital and clinic high up in the mountains (picture no running water, no xray machine, but lines and lines of beautiful and courageous – and needy – people to serve).
Then I got sick. Hardly-able-to-get-out-of-bed sick. I was diagnosed (in a way only God could have orchestrated) with a chronic illness that had gone undiagnosed since my teens. Months of rest and good treatment didn’t solve the problem and, three years after returning home from Afghanistan, I gave up my licence to practice medicine. It was hard, but it wasn’t a tragedy. I had been given lovely (if crazy!) years of learning and practicing obstetrics that, humanly speaking, I never should have had. And by the time I gave up my licence, God had already been growing in me a deep desire to listen to his heartbeat in a different way. (You can read more about that here).
Now I’m studying Christianity and the Arts at Regent College. I write here, and now and again I chat with folk who are wanting to hear God’s heartbeat in the midst of their own daily realities. I don’t know where I’ll be in five years’ time (do you?). But God is good and though this journey hasn’t been easy, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss it for anything.
So now that you’ve met me, will you join me in listening? I’d be honored. (You can pop your email address into the little box in the sidebar for weekly posts slipped straight into your inbox.)
And will you drop me a note and give me a glimpse of your own story? I know this already about you: You are special. But I’d love to know more. . . .
Grace to you in whatever your life holds these days.