The Boy Who Heard His Name in the Dark

It was night in God's house, and Samuel was small.

He was Hannah's boy, the very baby she had prayed for and sung her glad song about, and now he lived in God's house and helped old Eli the priest. He slept near the holy place, where the little lamp of God still glowed in the dark. You know how the dark can feel when everyone else is asleep. How you lie there and wonder if anyone is awake, if anyone is near, if anyone anywhere is thinking of you.

Samuel lay in that hushed room, listening to nothing at all.

And then, out of the dark, a voice.

"Samuel."

Just his name. Spoken soft and sure, the way only someone who loves you says your name.

He sat up. He thought it must be Eli. So he ran, pattering through the dark on quick little feet, and said, "Here I am! You called me."

But Eli blinked and said, "I didn't call you, child. Go lie down."

So he did. And the dark settled back over him.

"Samuel."

There it was again, his name in that same warm voice.

Up he jumped, and ran again. "Here I am!"

"I didn't call, my son. Go back and rest."

A third time it came. "Samuel." And a third time the boy ran to the old man's side.

And now Eli understood. Something stirred in his old heart, something he had almost forgotten: God still speaks. God had not gone silent forever. The voice in the dark was the Lord himself, calling the child.

"Go and lie down," Eli told him gently. "And if the voice comes again, say this: Speak, Lord. I am listening. Your servant is here."

So Samuel went back. He lay down in the dark. And he waited, with his heart wide open.

And the Lord came close, right there into the room with the little boy, and stood near him, and called as before, by name.

"Samuel. Samuel."

And the boy whispered, "Speak. I am listening."

Think of it. The God who made the stars, the God who flung the whole sky out like a blanket, that God came down into a dark little room and called one small boy by his own name. Because he knew him. Because he wanted him. Samuel was never lost in the dark to God, not for one moment.

God has always been like this. He cannot help it. It is the very heart of him to come close and call his children by name.

And one day, far down the years, he would come closer still. He would walk among us with a face you could see and a voice you could hear, the Good Shepherd, and he would say: the sheep that are mine, I know them, every one. I call them by their own name. They hear my voice. And not one of them will I ever lose.

So if you ever lie awake, and the dark feels big, and you wonder if anyone is near,

listen.

He knows your name. He has always known it. And the One who calls you is closer than the dark.