Hearing The Whistle

I grew up in an age when there were no cell phones or pagers and each house had only one phone line. There may have been extensions in different rooms, but only one call could happen at a time. We could play outside and around the neighborhood, but we had to tell our parents where we going and who we were with. Since there wasn’t an easy way to reach us, when we were given a time to be home, we were expected to be there at that time. In those days, it was safe to play anywhere in the neighborhood. If I wanted to go to the store or to a movie with friends, I just had to let my mom or dad know first, but I had to let them know and be back on time.

If I was out in the neighborhood and my dad wanted me to come home, he just stuck a pair of fingers in his mouth and whistled. That whistle was loud enough and shrill enough that I could hear it from one end of the block to the other, whether I was outside or in someone’s house. He had a unique sound and pattern to his whistle so there was never a doubt that it came from him.

To this day, I remember hearing him whistle for me in a particular instance. I was 14 years old and had gone to a girl’s house. We were sitting in her backyard talking and I heard him whistle. I realized I had not paid attention to the time and it was suppertime. I said my goodbye’s and headed home. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but it was a long way away. A couple of years later when I was driving, I measured the distance and it was about a mile and a half from my house to her house. Now my dad’s whistle was loud and carried a long way, but the likelihood of actually hearing that whistle was very small. He did in fact whistle that day, but I must have heard it in my head instead of in my ears.

Down through the years, I have heard other calls and whistles. Sometimes I responded and sometimes I ignored them. In either case, sometimes my answers, or non-answers, led me into good things and some things that were not so good. As I look back over the years, I can see different forks in different roads, all of which brought me to where I am today. The good roads were when I listened to God’s whistle and went to see what He had in mind. The others were like the ancient siren’s song of a long-ago epic tale that led men to their destruction. I have followed both the whistle and the song of the siren. I have reaped the good and the bad.

I still hear that whistle from time to time. Lately, I hear it very faintly, calling me to go and do. I am still trying to determine the direction and the purpose. Perhaps it is to put these words on paper for you to read, to cause you to think and feel and listen.

The bible tells us that God does not go around making loud noises so we will hear Him and pay attention. Instead, He speaks in the softest of voices, expecting us to hear Him. And maybe, just maybe, when He thinks we are too busy with whatever is occupying us at the moment, He just whistles to get our attention so we can hear His message of the moment. So, if you find yourself all wrapped up in life, listen not only for God’s word, but also for the whistle. Maybe He is calling you to join in His son’s Supper.