To my grandson his words and babbling make all the sense in the world. We listen to him say, "ba, ba, ba, ba" and other jibber jabber a nine month old articulates. We agree with him and mimic his sounds and he laughs at us as he hears us trying to match his dialect and tone. Somehow it seems that he is satisfied that we have understood him and we are satisfied that we have entered his world of communication and seen his sweet smile.
He has learned to shake his head no, both in fun and in communicating his dislike for a food or any number of things he doesn't want.
Our vocabulary is big, his is small, yet with his small sounds he is able to communicate with the giants among him and the giants seek to understand what he is trying to tell them. Sometimes we just don't get what exactly it is he is trying to convey but after a few tries we somehow reach a truce. A new book is started, a roll on the toy motorcycle appeases, or just simply a distraction of a dog or something on TV catches his eye and we all reach a peace again.
It's really not hard communicating with a baby. The less words there are the easier it is it seems. (When does that change? How come it seems that the more words we learn the less able we are to convey our wants or our thoughts or our needs? How come more words seem to make communication more complicated?)
The giants are so eager to hear more words come from his mouth, egging him on to say "momma, daddy, Bibby, Grandpa, ball" when the only thing he needs to have his needs conveyed and satisfied are a few sounds.
It makes me think of Jesus hearing our voice and us hearing his. It's hard to hear his voice in the jumble of the noises and words we are bombarded with on a continuous basis. Picking out his voice among millions of words and sounds is becoming harder and harder in the age in which we live, but amazing to me is that he is able to hear our voice, our sounds, our babbling among the billions on this planet.
He is able to zone in on our babbling and know exactly what we need and are trying to say, with no guessing games played. No pointing to a ball, "do you want this?" Or to a cracker, "do you want that?'
No, he knows our needs before we even ask them. Before we even know what we think we need to ask him for he already knows what we're trying to say.
The Giant among us, invisible as He is to the eye but not to the heart that seeks Him, hears our cry. He knows our need and anticipates our every plea. We are his sweet infant children, babbling with big words trying to impress the Creator of language when all we really need to say is "Help."
His sheep know His voice, but greater still is that He knows our voice.