Twice I heard The Voice.

The Voice didn’t occur in the same place in my head where my thoughts occur. It came from somewhere deeper and further back. I didn’t think it, I heard it. Not with my ears — but as if someone had whispered directly into my brain.

The First Time

The first time it happened was serious. I had been diagnosed with a large parotid gland tumor, just in front of my left ear. The surgeon told me the tumor was on the branch of the upper and lower facial nerves of my face, and the surgery could leave me with facial paralysis. His heavy demeanor told me that he thought the risk, in my case, was high. After an inconclusive biopsy, I had no idea whether the tumor was cancerous.

They scheduled me for surgery six weeks away. During those six weeks, I devoted 100% of my energy to managing anxiety. Only three things helped: teaching my classes, spending time with my dad, and reading the Bible and drinking wine (and occasionally dancing in the kitchen) with my next door neighbor in the evenings.

Mornings were the worst. I stopped training for the California International Marathon but kept running every morning, however long I felt I needed just to keep the panic at bay. As I ran, the what ifs ran constantly through my head. What if I couldn’t work. What if I couldn’t see well enough to drive. Cancer scared me less than the possibility of living disfigured.

One morning, just as I came near the trailhead at the end of my running route, I suddenly heard it — The Voice.

It said, quietly, “I really think it’s going to be okay.”

That’s it. No certainty, no promises. Just that calm, quiet voice — the furthest thing from how I felt or anything that had been in my head for weeks prior.

And you know what? The Voice was right. In the end, it was okay.

The Second Time

The second time was insignificant — or so it seemed to me. Like many times before in my life, I’d been struggling against going to Sunday Mass. I never stopped believing; I just didn’t feel any communication, any transformation, any anything happening at Mass.

I’d been raised religious, but not dogmatic. Sometimes I didn’t go to Mass, and no one judged or punished me for it. But … it just didn’t seem right. The alternative to organized religion, I felt, was essentially inventing my own religion, and the last thing I could claim was the spiritual enlightenment to substitute my judgment for that of the most devoted people of the last couple of millennia. I prayed about it.

This time, I heard The Voice just as I was dropping off to sleep one night. It said, quietly, “Just go.”

Don’t worry about what happens there. That’s not your job. Just go.

The Voice

I don’t claim to know whose voice I heard on those two occasions. My husband has speculated that it’s my mother. That rings true.

Maybe my mother, who died in 2004, still watches me, still speaks to me when absolutely necessary. She would if she could, I know, and if she did, these words sounds exactly like something she might say.

Or perhaps the brain can register a voice, a personality, that one has known since before birth. Perhaps, even decades after that person’s death, the voice lives deep in our consciousness. Perhaps, at times of stress, such a memory can surface from different synapses in the brain than our ordinary thoughts.

Perhaps so. But today in Mass, I was struck that young Samuel (1 Samuel 3: 3b-10), when he heard God’s call in his dreams, repeatedly mistook the voice for that of his mentor, Eli. Three times, he went to Eli’s side, responding to the call. Three times, Eli sent him back to bed.

Then Eli understood that the LORD was calling the youth. So he said to Samuel, "Go to sleep, and if you are called, reply, Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening." When Samuel went to sleep in his place, the LORD came and revealed his presence, calling out as before, "Samuel, Samuel!" Samuel answered, "Speak, for your servant is listening."

Our pastor, in his Homily, said he once heard The Voice too, while he was contemplating an important decision. In his case, he heard the hymn “Be Not Afraid.” He described it as a voice that came from a different place than his usual thoughts.

The Call

Does God call us? I don’t know. But if you’ve heard The Voice, you won’t be sure that He doesn't.