One of the oldest forms of communication—listening, is also one of the most important.

Rich's Ears

"Call Ken," God said.

"But he can't talk to me!" Rich responded. "He has tonsil cancer and can't speak at all."

"Call Ken." God was insistent. "Call him now."

Rich sat at his desk and wondered how to have a conversation with his good friend. He thought about driving to Ken's house. After all, Ken only lived 60 miles away. But his calendar of appointments didn't allow the trip right now.

Then he grabbed his cell phone, found Ken's number and sent a brief text message. "ILvU. OK 2day?"

Moments later his cell buzzed.

"Gud 2 hear. Better. Thx."

The text-message conversation continued for months, often several times each day, never more than a few contracted words and symbols, but symbols that became an important part of Ken's recovery.

"No one will ever know how much Rich's notes meant to me," Ken says. "They gave me hope and encouragement when I needed it most. When God knew I needed support, He called Rich ... and Rich was wonderful!"

Ken and Rich. Two middle-age professionals using text-messaging to bring God's presence into each other's life.

Amy's Ears

Cindy was a teenager in Amy's Youth Sabbath school class—a happy, gregarious, smiling girl whose sense of humor made her the life of every party. The kids in the youth group were in and out of Amy's house often, preparing Sabbath's program, making cookies for residents of a local nursing home, and talking about everything teenagers need to talk about.

Several years before, Amy and her family had accepted God's invitation to be a "safe home" for teens, "a non-judgmental haven where the love of Christ would lead all relationships and where Heaven's Hope would be like air and light."

So when Cindy stood at Amy's door one afternoon, Amy immediately saw that she was "especially needed today."

Amy listened through Cindy's tears and heard the story of a young girl whose unexpected pregnancy was destroying her life. Amy listened long, and with Cindy's permission brought Cindy's parents into the conversation. Acceptance, repentance, forgiveness and love flowed freely around Amy's kitchen table.

The next day Amy called the church leader and told him she was planning a baby shower for Cindy and would need to use the church fellowship hall in about three weeks.

"This is very unorthodox," she was told. "You'll have to get permission from the Board. Cindy's not married, you know."

Amy knew. And with help from Cindy, her parents and friends, prepared a most convincing case to present to the Board. She practiced the presentation many times and gave an impassioned appeal to the Board.

And was turned down. Flat. "We would be condoning sin," they said.

So Amy called Rebekka, a soul-mate who lived three states away, told her the story, and asked if Cindy could move in.

"This afternoon would be fine!" Rebekka volunteered.

The Sabbath Cindy and Amy arrived to worship in Rebekka's church the entire sanctuary was decked out for a baby shower, the choir sang lullabies, and the platform was covered with gifts for Cindy and her child.

"The greatest gifts," Cindy remembers, "were the hugs!"

"I think everyone in the church hugged me at least twice," Cindy says. "I knew I was OK."

Our Ears

Xtreme Grace. Maybe it's God texting us, "ILvU. Show someone how it feels."

Dick Duerksen is the official "storyteller" for Maranatha Volunteers International. Readers may contact Dick at dduerksen@maranatha.org.