God doesn't speak at all so ... I don't either.
Discussion with God doesn't require words.
"You can't find God in the fire," the Bible explains, "but in the whispers (I Kings 19:13)".
Okay "whispers" are words but ancient Hebrew was more about painting images than any final word.
Whispers are intimate, important and necessary to share. It's not about the fires of religion, nationalism, politics or income distribution. It's quieting down to listen to God speak in hushed tones.
I don't care.
There's something I need to talk to God about now!
I have stage 4 pancreatic cancer and survived a major 10 hour surgery to still have it.
"We got almost all of it," the Doctor explains.
"Well, that sucks," I answer.
Conversations with physicians require lots more words than a dialogue with God.
He tells me about this one patient who's still alive with the same thing I've got 20 years later.
"God," I finally say out loud, "it's not right to go through all of this and still have cancer?"
I've never known God to interrupt anyone speaking, something the rest of us really have to work at, so I take my time ... it was much longer and passionate than the words I just typed.
God's not quick to answer when I finish, opting to consider things before speaking.
There's a lot of consideration.
Crickets chirp.
That's not right either and I don't really care what God says about it!
"Why would we go through everything we've been through only to still face the inevitable? Make sense out of this God because it makes no sense!"
A warm, slight breeze makes green leafs dance in trees.
Winston, the Little Gay Dog (LGD), loudly slurps water from his bowl.
On the sofa, Sarah's engrossed in something on her phone.
"DADDIE!" our three year old calls from upstairs.
It all hits me at once, the individual components of life suddenly conducted as though a symphony. There are no words as each individual snapshot of NOW continuously wash over me ... through me really ... cleansing away acknowledgement of ANYTHING that's not as important as green leafs dancing, a dog drinking water, my wife or our daughter.
Seconds seem lots longer before I snap back to the reality of passing time, as the breeze dies, the Dog lies down, Sarah tosses her phone on the sofa sighing, "Well!"
Che calls again louder this time.
Leaving the chair, I rush to attend those I love, and yet ... still the symphony moment lingers, as though a prayer, as the beauty of my life dances inside of me.
I suppose there's nothing to say when so much is happening right now inside and outside of me.
Yet ...
There's no direct answers to the questions.
No Divine response at all.
While the world crazily spins around me with all of the things happening in it, I wonder, "Does silence means not-participating and has nothing to do with my cancer."
There's just the cancer.
I don't want to think about it.
Love is all around me.
I can still enjoy it all.
Sarah explains an exacerbation at work while I climb the stairs to react to Che.
"I have to remember this," I tell myself. "Whatever comes next, this is what I want to remember.
