I sat at my desk and tried hard to concentrate on the words on the computer screen, but scenes of my day with my four-year-old son kept flashing through my mind, interrupting my thoughts. Zac crying . . . arguing . . . stomping to his room. Finally I gave up and rested my forehead in my hands. How had this day gone so wrong?

After four years of motherhood, I expected more from myself. By this time, I figured, I should be pretty competent. But nothing in my bag of tricks had made the slightest dent in my son’s determination that day. If I said “Go left,” he went right. If I said “Sit up,” he scooted down as far as possible. Black was white and yes was no. A whole day of sparring and correcting had left me exhausted, frustrated, and glum.

I’d tried gentle. I’d tried firm. He’d been sent to “time out” so many times that I was certain, if I checked, the bench seat would still be warm. By bedtime we had reached an uneasy truce. We’d hugged, shared a story, and prayed together. Still, my sense of failure lingered.

As I stared at my keyboard and replayed each of the day’s failures, I heard a tiny shuffling coming down the hall—the sound of little slippers swishing across carpet. One green eye, and then the other, peeked around the doorjamb.

“You’re up,” I observed.

He nodded.

“Is something wrong?”

“Kinda.”

Maybe he shared my uneasiness about the day. Maybe he, too, felt there was a little unfinished business between us. He kicked an imaginary spot on the carpet. He scratched another invisible spot on the wall, then rubbed his nose.

Finally, he gave a little sigh. “I was just wondering something. Mom, will you ever . . . will you ever unlove me?”

Oh, honey.

I couldn’t get out of my chair fast enough. I scooped him up and squeezed his little flannelled body and rocked—as if rocking could shake out all his doubts.

“Don’t you know that nothing could ever, ever, ever make me unlove you?”

“Even ten bad days?”

“Even ten hundred.”

He twirled a strand of my hair between his fingers. “I just wanted to know.”

I heard God whisper that night. He arranged that little conversation to unstop the ears of my heart, and then He whispered:

"I’ll never unlove you."

He knows I wonder now and then. Because now and then I let Him down. I fail to be the wife, the mother, the daughter, the friend I know I should be. At those times, my failures loom large enough to block out the sight of His loving face. I question His commitment, sure that I’ve finally reached the end of His patience.

I forget that I am, after all, only a child. I forget that He is a parent with unending love.

All I really need is a quiet reminder. And so He whispers, with a voice so tender and compassionate that the sound alone melts my insecurities and rights my soul.

I think you need those whispers, too. Because I think you’re just like me. You’re a woman juggling ten different roles and not always juggling successfully. Oh, there are days when the right words come out of your mouth and the right choices seem effortless, but then there are those other days—days when you wander off the path and say all the wrong things and end up hurting the ones you love. Days when every step is a move backwards, and by bedtime you’ve gone a dozen miles in the wrong direction.

God wants to reassure us that no matter how far we slip, no matter how far we wander, nothing will ever make Him unlove us. He whispers that and a hundred equally astonishing truths every day, but if we don’t slow down long enough to take a second listen, we miss it. The noise of life drowns out the passion of His voice.

I wrote this book to tell you one thing: your God loves you. Not just a little—but a lot. Deeply. Want to know how much? So much that since your first tiny lungful, He’s taken note of every breath you’ve ever drawn. He’s measured out all your heartbeats. The sound of your crying moves Him so much He saves every tear you shed. He loves to hear you laugh, and when you triumph in some small way, He applauds your victory. Though you may think differently, the truth is that God is on your side—and He loves you fervently. He’s not disappointed in you. He’s not angry that you haven’t achieved perfection. He doesn’t scowl when you drop one of the ten plates you’ve been spinning. Instead, He leans close and whispers, “I’ll never unlove you.”

The stories you’ll find here are not profound. In fact, the moments I’ve written about are all quite ordinary. But that should be an encouragement to those of us living ordinary lives. Take heart: God does not speak solely through burning bushes. He speaks through the murmurings of an infant, the laughter of an old woman, the questions of a four-year-old. Listen, and you’ll hear His gentle whisper. It’s speaking your name.

Is this book for you? It is if you’ve ever felt invisible … insignificant … alone … defeated … anxious … restless … overwhelmed..

It’s for you if this is a time of spiritual spring—you’re in a moment of renewal or at the start of a brand new chapter in life. It may be that you’ve just been forgiven. The slate was wiped clean and God gave you a little pat and a smile and sent you back out to play. Or maybe you’ve just recently been adopted into His family. Everything is fresh, new, inviting. God’s whispers are there to help you on your feet: “Take My hand.”

Perhaps it’s a season of summer for you. The clouds parted, and you caught a glimpse of the truth. You got it. You figured out—finally—that it’s not about striving and doing. It’s simply about enjoying Him. You don’t have to work to please your Father, you just have to keep holding His hand and see where He takes you. God is there to whisper, “Let’s walk.”

It could be that you’re in spiritual autumn. For some reason, you’ve begun to shoulder the load again. Though you know, deep down, that all things come from and through His hand, you’ve let yourself slip into an anxious mood. You feel that everything is up to you, and if you’re to be protected and provided for, you have to do it for yourself. God is there to whisper, “Not so.”

For you women in a season of winter, my heart is with you. I’m in winter too, right now. As I write this book, I’m still grieving a few losses of my own. In this season of barrenness, when everything seems lifeless and spring looks years away, let God breathe the comfort your soul aches for. Let Him remind you, “I’m here.”

This book is a gentle model. Whether you absorb them in one sitting or a dozen, randomly or in order, the stories within will teach the art of listening. I’ll tell you the whispers I’ve heard, and then you start listening for your own. They’ll be there. They’ve been there all along.

My hope is that these stories will take you by the hand and walk you closer toward the heart of God. His greatest desire is to be known by you. From the majestic to the mundane, His voice calls out. In the pounding of the ocean’s surf, in the clap and flash of lightening, He roars.

In the midst of ordinary moments, He whispers.