Charles Swindoll recounts an interesting story. A native American was visiting New York City.Walking with a friend near the center of Manhattan, the Indian suddenly stopped his companion and whispered, “Wait, I hear a cricket.” His friend was disbelieving. A cricket? In downtown New York?
The cacophony of sounds from passing taxis, impatient honking, people shouting, brakes screeching, and subways roaring would make it virtually impossible to hear a cricket, even if one were present. But, the Indian was insistent. He stopped his friend and began to crisscross the street and sidewalks with his head cocked to one side, intently listening.
Then, in a large cement planter where a tree was growing, he finally found the cricket and held it up for his friend’s benefit. Amazed, his friend asked how he could have possibly heard that cricket. Reaching into his pocket, the Indian grasped
some coins, held them waist high, then dropped them on the sidewalk. Everyone within a block turned to look in their direction.
As Swindoll explains, “It all depends on what you’re listening for. We don’t
have enough crickets in our heads. We don’t listen for them. Perhaps you have spent all your life searching for a handful of change and you’ve missed the real sound of life.”