” Come.” You are calling out to me, Jesus, “Come.” How often I have heard it in the recesses of my mind. “Come.” But it doesn’t ring out above the other voices, those loud and demanding voices.  Yours is soft and gentle, and I have to stop and listen carefully to hear it: “Come.” Instead, I listen to the call that demands productivity: “Get it done, now.” Rather than lying in bed and listening to that still, small voice first thing in the morning, I sleep in until Judd awakes, and then dash to get dressed, make the bed, and get the coffee pot going. And you say “Come.”…