The Three Voices

The Sacred Voice — Grandmother Blanche

My grandmother Blanche was the first voice. When she spoke, something in the atmosphere shifted. She didn't raise her voice — she didn't have to. She had a way of speaking that made you feel like God was in the room, because, well, He was. And she knew it.

She was the one who taught me to pray before I knew what prayer was. She was the one who could look at a child and see a calling. She was the one who told me, "Baby, God don't make no junk" — and said it with such authority that I couldn't argue even when I tried.

The sacred voice tells you who you really are. It doesn't flatter, but it also doesn't tear down. It speaks with an authority that comes from somewhere beyond itself. When the sacred voice speaks, you feel seen — not evaluated, not used, not managed. Seen.

That's the sacred voice. Not a voice of judgment, but a voice that sings over you. A voice that rejoices, that quiets, that loves. My grandmother's voice was an echo of this — and the echo was loud enough to carry me through decades.

The Abandoning Voice — My Father

And then there was my father's voice — or more accurately, his silence. Because sometimes the abandoning voice doesn't say anything at all. Sometimes it's what you never hear that shapes you most.

The abandoning voice teaches you that people leave. It teaches you that you're not worth staying for. It teaches you to brace for departure — to never get too comfortable, too attached, too hopeful, because the people who matter most will eventually walk away. And you'll be left with the silence they left behind.

I want to be careful here. I am not saying that every absent father, every parent who failed, every person who left — that their voice is the loudest one in the room. What I am saying is that the absence of a voice is itself a voice. And it speaks a lie that takes decades to unlearn: You are not worth staying for.

David knew something about the abandoning voice. And he wrote the rebuttal in one verse: They may leave, but God will take me in. The sacred voice drowns out the abandoning one.

Which Voice Are You Listening To?

Every one of us carries voices. Some were given to us by people who loved us well. Some were given to us by people who used us, abandoned us, or never showed up. Some are our own inner voice, repeating the scripts we learned. And some is the voice of God — distinct, steady, and always consistent with His Word.

The question isn't whether you hear voices. The question is: which one are you obeying?

And here's what I know after sixty-five years of sorting through the voices: the loudest voice is not always the truest. The most familiar voice is not always the healthiest. And the voice that shaped your childhood doesn't get to shape your eternity — unless you let it.