The voice of God is the wind

Today has been the day of wind. Howling, rumbling, whistling. Like a blowtorch. Like there is a dragon in North Dakota trying to blowout the birthday candles on a cake in Chicago. Windows rattle. Blown-down tree branches litter the streets. Large outdoor Christmas tree displays topple. This is the Windy City. People cover their faces with scarves and lean into the wind as they walk along the street. Against the wind is uphill.

Maureen, a vulnerable adult who lives across the street and doesn’t talk, who is about my age, is obsessively policing the street in front of her house for fallen branches.
Jim, neighbor-friend, comes over to watch the football game because there isn’t any electricity at his house.
Today the voice of God has been the wind. I went to the Quakers 8:30 AM meeting. The main double doors between the entry hall and the meeting room opened and closed as the building’s pressure changed–like the rising and falling, the labored breathing of a distressed patient’s chest.
And I thought about the doors being a distraction from the voice of God, from the wind. The last time that I’d been to meeting, the voice of God was the squeaking ceiling fan, which at the time seemed like a distraction. But it prompted Ralph, blind, sage, peace activist handyman to rise and say, What does the squeaking of the ceiling fan mean, spiritually? Now the voice of God and the distraction is the wind, but I don’t have a clue what it is saying to me.
So, sitting in meeting, the wind straining against the building, after awhile, this first guy gets up to talk, and talks about the voice of God. And I am thinking, It is the wind. Why don’t we stop talking and listen to the wind? Others get up and talk, and I keep thinking that the main attraction is being ignored. I feel almost moved to get up and say, The voice of God is the wind, but I don’t. I have never spoken in meeting.
Steve and his wife came in and sat down. I have been waiting for this for awhile. They lost their baby daughter two months ago. Dorothea wrote them a note and tried to call them. I tried to call them. Line busy. I sent them a Christmas card. So at the end of meeting, went over and hugged Steve. Talked to him briefly, but then he was gone.