There were two small children sitting near the back of the train car with their mother. Portable media players in hand, their giggling, bright voices filled the metal snake filled with tired, silent adults. Then another voice floated through the air -- the high-pitched, overly-amicable voice of the children's loving mother, speaking to her two beloved in what is best known as "baby talk."
Baby talk is a curious thing: It's sickening when adults speak it to one another, but when it's spoken from an adult to a young child -- or a parent to a child -- it's nothing short of warming.
Why do adults speak to their tiny counterparts in such carefully paced, meticulously pronounced, shrill voices? I'm no expert, but from a gaggle of personal experiences and observations, it would appear that it is at least partly rooted in the adults' desire to comfort, not threaten, the young child -- and even more, to bring a smile, not a frown, to their dear faces. This endeavor is so highly esteemed that even some of the coldest, harshest, most callous of people are glad to take part, regardless of what passersby might deduce.
"God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world." - C.S. Lewis
During the past several months, I've asked God to "speak" to me on many occasions. I know that he speaks every moment, but it's always in a manner that is unsatisfying to me. So, when I plead for him to speak louder, clearer, more definitively in my head and heart, I do so out of discontent. He speaks too softly, too quietly, too subtly for me to comprehend, I tell myself. And he uses such inadequate outlets to do it. Why won't he just shout and make things clear!
What I fail to realize is that if God were to actually speak to me with his real, unfettered voice, I would fall to pieces and be completely blown away. It is, in fact, a little-appreciated grace that he speaks baby talk to me, lest I be terrified and tearfully misconstrue his blaring, blinding, deafening roar as furious damnation of all I am. (Yes, there is damnation in it, but it does not fall on me.) Indeed, it's during the "silent" times when it seems God speaks most nakedly, as all the flecks of what's left of me are continuously torched, hammered and blasted away, until all I was is gone and an inconsolable heap of ruin remains.
"And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper." - 1 Kings 19:12 (ESV)
For my infantile ears and mind cannot discern all that is in that voice -- yet. So, he lovingly filters it for me and speaks to me in a tongue I can begin to understand, even if it means risking his reputation as the God who is because of the use of such insufficient men and words.
Adults speak to their adored children with voices raised and emphases deranged to make them feel safe, happy.
God speaks to his beloved babes with fallen humans and easily distorted words to make them feel known, understood -- and to make himself known, understood.
And he goes to the fullest extent to speak to us in terms we can grasp, not by merely bending over us or kneeling before us to make himself more friendly -- he becomes a baby himself and delivers his words in person.
"We may ignore, but we can nowhere evade, the presence of God. The world is crowded with Him. He walks everywhere incognito. And the incognito is not always easy to penetrate. The real labor is to remember to attend. In fact to come awake. Still more to remain awake." - C.S. Lewis
