One evening when I was a teenager, my Dad and I were behind our house in rural northern Michigan, sighting in our deer rifles for hunting season. The field stretched far into hundreds of acres, with thick forest beyond. We set up a target against a stack of old logs and took turns shooting, both of us wearing earmuffs to block the deafening report of the short-barreled carbines.
The first time my Dad fired, I thought I heard someone yell at the exact instant the gunshot echoed across the field. He turned, thinking I had shouted. We removed our earmuffs and listened—nothing but the quiet of the countryside settling in as the sun dipped lower. He shrugged, chambered another round, aimed, and fired. Again, at that exact moment, I heard a faint human voice.
We stopped, pulled off the earmuffs, and stood still. Then it came—faint, strained, and unmistakable from somewhere beyond the dirt road and deep in those darkening woods: “Help! Somebody help!” It sent a chill through me. Whoever it was would soon be swallowed by the night. Every scary movie scene began unfolding in my mind.
My Dad ran inside, grabbed my older sister, and the two of them jumped in the pickup truck. They crossed the dirt road, bounced across the old cow field, and disappeared into the trees. I stood there listening as the truck horn echoed and their voices called out into the forest, trying to find the source of that desperate cry. It was scary to me. I could only imagine WHY someone might be screaming for help.
Ten minutes later, they returned with a group of frazzled young day-hikers who had gotten completely turned around deep in the woods. They were shaken, exhausted, and incredibly relieved. Their cry had been heard—and answered.
I’ve often thought about that moment. In the midst of incredibly loud rifle fire and across great distance, one desperate cry broke through to our muffled ears.
Isn’t that what the Father listens for?
In a world full of noise—pride, distraction, empty words—the cry that reaches heaven most clearly is the one born of need. Like Blind Bartimaeus, who cried out above the crowd, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” (Mark 10:47). And Jesus stopped. He heard. He healed. And afterward? Bartimaeus followed Jesus Christ.
What does the Father hear today? About eight billion thoughts and voices—but He is listening for the one who knows they need Him. The one who realizes they are lost, surrounded by darkness, and unable to find their way out of this dark world alone.
And when that cry comes, it is never drowned out. It reaches His ears. He responds. He rescues. He saves—and forever changes the direction of a life. He runs to save that soul like the father of the prodigal ran to embrace His long lost son! (Luke 15:11-32)
Praise God—the Father still hears!
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