Mikey and Paigey: Notwithstanding the mildness of the voice

I was asked to share a scripture in Società di Soccorso last Sunday. Unfortunately the buses weren't running normally, so our 15 minute commute took 45 because we walked to 5 different bus stops before finding one that was in service.

We were very late to church. I was bummed. I missed the first half of Relief Society and was unable to get up in front of the sisters and say, "Claudia mi ha chiesto di condividera una scrittura con voi. Ho scelto Helman capitolo cinque versetto trenta e parte di trentuno. Allora . . ." Oh well. Next time.

The verses describe the voice of God not as a "voice of thunder, neither was it a voice of great tumultuous noise, but it was a still voice of perfect mildness, as if it had been a whisper . . . "

So much of not only my relationship with Heavenly Father, but also my relationships with other people, is encompassed in these verses. The exchanges I have daily are small. The things that I learn are incremental. The inspiration I feel is mild. The Spirit whispers. My own voice is weak.

But the next verse says, "notwithstanding the mildness of the voice, behold the earth shook exceedingly."

I am too quick to forget that the small, the daily, the perfectly mild things in our lives are still pushing us forward, helping to forge an important work.

This idea—that the mighty things appear weak—is so appropriate at Christmas time. I was telling Mike a few days ago that after having Ada, holding just a minutes-old baby, made me realize at once how small and fragile she is, and how infinite and limitless she is. Mostly, however, I was just in awe over how tiny, how perfect, and how completely dependent she was. I felt a great weight of being needed like I hadn't felt before.

How incredible it must have been for Mary to hold her just minutes-old baby, to realize how much he needed her, but to know also how much she needed him. She couldn't be saved without this small and fragile newborn. How incredible it is to think that those early seekers of the Christ-child—Simeon, Anna, the Shepherds, the Wise men—knew by looking at a baby that He was the Savior of the World.