Learning to Listen

Recognizing God’s Voice in the Quiet Moments of Life

Introduction: When Guidance Isn’t Obvious

Over the past several weeks, we’ve talked about walking with God in quiet seasons—about slowing down, returning without shame, trusting unanswered prayers, and learning to live in the unforced rhythms of grace.

Last week, we explored what happens when we remain connected to Christ—that over time, fruit begins to grow naturally in our lives.

But that raises a very practical question.

If we’re walking closely with God…
if we’re abiding…
if we’re learning to trust Him…

How do we actually recognize His voice?

Not in dramatic, unmistakable moments.

But in the everyday decisions of life.


The Expectation We Bring

I think many of us expect God’s guidance to be clear, direct, and unmistakable.

A strong impression.
A clear answer.
A defined next step.

And sometimes, that happens.

But more often—at least in my experience—God’s guidance feels quieter than that.

Less like a command.
More like a nudge.

Less like certainty.
More like direction.

And that can be unsettling.


When I Couldn’t Hear Him

There have been several times throughout my career when I found myself in situations that weren’t where I wanted to be.

Sometimes it was excessive stress.
Sometimes it was poor leadership.
Sometimes it was a gap between what I expected and what the role actually became.

In those seasons, I would pray:

God, show me what You want me to do.
Should I stay? Should I go?

(At which point The Clash song starts playing in my head… I’ve mentioned before that life should have a soundtrack, right?)

And more often than not, I didn’t feel like I was getting a clear answer.

I wanted direction.

What I felt instead… was silence.

But then something interesting happened.

On at least two occasions I can think of, I didn’t leave those roles by choice.

I was laid off.

And in both cases, what followed was something better than what I would have chosen for myself.

Looking back now, I can’t help but wonder:

Was God already guiding me…
and I just couldn’t hear Him?

Or maybe more honestly—

Was I hearing Him… but struggling to trust what He was doing next?


When Listening Is Complicated by Fear

Fast forward to today.

I’m in a role that I genuinely enjoy most days. There’s nothing obviously wrong with it.

But at the same time, I find myself standing at the edge of something new.

A possible transition into semi-retirement.
More time to travel.
More focus on physical, spiritual, and emotional health.
More energy invested in the things that feel meaningful and life-giving.

And in my daily prayers, I’ve been asking:

God, when is the right time?
Is it now? Is it later? Am I ready?

Some days, I sense something—almost like a whisper:

Trust Me. I have more for you.

Other days, I wonder:

Didn’t You lead me here for a reason?
Have I fulfilled that yet?

And if I’m honest, there are moments when I simply don’t know.

Not because God isn’t present.

But because discernment isn’t always clear.


Listening Is Not Always Hearing Words

One of the things I’m beginning to understand is this:

Listening to God is not always about hearing something new.

Often, it’s about recognizing how He is already leading.

Through:

  • the desires He’s shaping in us
  • Bible verses we read or have read before that suddenly come to mind
  • the doors He opens and closes
  • the wisdom we gain over time
  • the peace (or lack of it) we experience

God’s guidance is not always loud.

But it is usually consistent.

And it never contradicts who He is.


Learning to Recognize His Voice

Jesus said:

“My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.”
John 10:27 (NIV)

That verse doesn’t describe a technique.

It describes a relationship.

Sheep don’t analyze the shepherd’s voice.

They learn it over time.

Through proximity.
Through familiarity.
Through trust.

And I’m realizing that’s how listening works for us, too.

Not perfectly.
Not instantly.

But gradually.


Where I Am Right Now

If I’m being honest, I’m still learning this.

I’ve grown.
I trust God more today than I did years ago.
I’ve seen His faithfulness.

But I’m not “there.”

I’m still asking questions.
Still wrestling with timing.
Still learning how to listen without forcing clarity.

And maybe that’s part of the point.

Listening to God is not about arriving at certainty.

It’s about walking closely enough to recognize His direction over time.


Following Even When It’s Not Clear

The more I walk with God, the more I see that He rarely gives us the full roadmap.

Instead, He invites us to take the next step.

Not always with complete confidence.

But with growing trust.

Borrowed from YouVersion

And sometimes, even when we don’t feel like we’ve heard Him clearly, we look back later and realize:

He was leading all along.


Go Deeper

How God Often Speaks Today

God’s voice is not limited to one form.

He speaks in ways that align with who He is and how He has revealed Himself:

Through Scripture

“Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.”
Psalm 119:105 (NIV)

Through wisdom

“If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God… and it will be given to you.”
James 1:5 (NIV)

Through peace

“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts…”
Colossians 3:15 (NIV)

Through circumstances
(open doors, closed doors, unexpected changes)

Through other people
(counsel, encouragement, correction)

The challenge is not that God isn’t speaking.

The challenge is learning to notice, and recognize His voice.


A Question to Sit With

Where might God already be guiding me
in ways I’ve been overlooking?

Listening is not about mastering a method.

It’s about growing in relationship.


Closing Encouragement

If you’re in a season where you’re asking God for direction…

And the answer doesn’t feel clear…

You’re not alone.

And you’re not failing.

You may be learning to listen.

Step by step.
Moment by moment.
With a God who is far more present than He is loud.

Same God.
Same voice.
Still leading.

Even when it takes time to recognize it.

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The Fruit of Abiding in Christ

Introduction: When Growth Stops Feeling Forced

Over the past several weeks, we’ve talked about quiet seasons—about hurry, shame, returning, unanswered prayers, and learning to trust God’s patience.

Last week we reflected on what Jesus called “the unforced rhythms of grace”—a way of living that stays close to Him without striving or spiritual exhaustion.

But that raises an honest question.

If faith grows quietly…
If grace moves in rhythms…
If we stop forcing spiritual progress…

How does real change actually happen?

If we’re not pushing ourselves constantly, will anything actually grow?

Jesus answered that question long before we started asking it.

And His answer was surprisingly simple.

The rhythms that keep us close to Christ are the same rhythms through which His life begins to grow within us.


Abiding Before Producing

Jesus once described the life of faith using a picture that would have been very familiar to His listeners:

Borrowed from YouVersion

Notice what Jesus does not say.

He doesn’t say:

Work harder and produce fruit.

He says:

Remain.

Stay connected.
Stay close.
Stay rooted.

Fruit is not the result of pressure.

Fruit is the result of connection.

A branch does not strain to produce grapes.

It simply stays attached to the vine.


What Real Spiritual Growth Looks Like

In a world that measures success through effort and productivity, this can feel counterintuitive. I have to admit that I’ve struggled with this throughout my walk with Christ, since it flies in the face of my career growth, of success in general.

We often assume spiritual maturity comes from intensity.

But Jesus describes something different.

Growth in the life of faith often looks quiet and gradual.

Less anger where anger once lived.

More patience in situations that once triggered frustration.

A deeper steadiness when circumstances feel uncertain.

Over time, something inside us begins to change. Thankfully, due to God’s grace and patience with me, I have been experiencing this in recent years. Sadly, not all the time, since I always have to remind myself to stay out of God’s way as He works in me and through me.

But my growth trajectory remains, thanks be to God.

And Scripture calls that change, that growth, fruit.

Borrowed from YouVersion

Notice again the language.

Not fruits we manufacture.

Fruit of the Spirit.

The Spirit produces it.

Our role is to remain.


The Quiet Work of Transformation

One of the beautiful things about fruit is that it grows slowly.

No one walks past a vineyard and sees grapes appear overnight.

Growth happens quietly.

Roots deepen beneath the surface.

Nutrients move through the vine.

And over time, what was invisible becomes visible.

The same is true in our lives.

Faith that abides in Christ begins to produce qualities that cannot be forced:

Peace that holds steady during uncertainty.

Patience with people who once irritated us.

Compassion for struggles we didn’t understand before.

This kind of transformation is rarely dramatic.

But it is unmistakably real.


Why Abiding Matters More Than Striving

When we try to manufacture spiritual growth through sheer effort, we often end up exhausted.

We measure ourselves constantly.

We wonder if we’re doing enough.

We worry about whether we’re progressing fast enough.

But abiding shifts the focus.

Instead of asking:

How am I doing?

We begin asking:

Am I staying close to Christ?

Because fruit does not grow from self-analysis.

It grows from relationship.

And relationship is exactly what Jesus invites us into.

“Remain in me, as I also remain in you.”
John 15:4 (NIV)


The Kind of Growth That Lasts

The longer I walk with God, the more convinced I become that the deepest spiritual changes rarely happen through dramatic moments.

They happen through consistent nearness.

Through prayer that becomes habitual.

Through Scripture that slowly reshapes our thinking.

Through returning to God again and again when we drift.

Over time, those simple rhythms create something durable.

A faith that is not easily shaken.

A heart that reflects Christ more naturally.

Fruit that grows—not because we forced it—but because we remained.


Go Deeper

Why Jesus Focused on Fruit

Throughout Scripture, fruit is used as evidence of inner life.

Jesus said:

“Every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit… Thus, by their fruit you will recognize them.”
Matthew 7:17–20 (NIV)

Fruit doesn’t prove perfection.

But it reveals direction.

It shows what kind of life is flowing through the tree.

That’s why Jesus didn’t tell His followers to obsess over behavior modification.

Instead, He invited them into a relationship that would change them from the inside out.

A question to sit with this week:

What fruit might God already be quietly growing in my life that I’ve overlooked?

Sometimes growth is easiest to see not by looking at today—but by remembering who we were several years ago.

If you remain close to Christ, fruit will grow.

Not forced.
Not hurried.
But real.


Closing Encouragement

If your faith feels quiet right now…

If your spiritual life feels more steady than dramatic…

That may not mean growth has stalled.

It may mean something healthy is happening.

Roots are deepening.

Life is flowing through the vine.

And fruit is beginning to form.

Same God.
Same grace.
Still growing something good in you.

Even when the growth is slow.

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Faith That Grows and Lasts

Introduction: After the Waiting

Over the past several weeks, we’ve talked about quiet seasons—about hurry, shame, returning, unanswered prayers, and the patience of God.

In many ways, those reflections have been about learning to slow down enough to walk with God—not ahead or behind, not acting like Christians without much thought about Christ. (No judgment—most of us go through seasons like that.)

But this week I encountered a phrase during a Lent devotional reading that stopped me in my tracks.

It’s a phrase I’ve read many times before, but this time it landed differently.

Jesus’ invitation in Matthew 11 includes these words:

“Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.”
Matthew 11:29 (The Message)

The image Jesus used was a yoke—two animals walking side by side, moving in the same direction at the same pace. Life becomes lighter not because the load disappears, but because we are no longer carrying it alone.

Unforced rhythms of grace.

Something about that phrase felt especially personal this time.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking more intentionally about the future—about stepping away from my career soon and entering a new season of life. A season where I hope to travel more, focus on my health, and devote more time to my wife, family, friends, faith, and the passion projects that bring meaning to my life.

Whatever the reason, those words struck me with fresh clarity.

Faith that lasts isn’t forced.

It grows through rhythms—unforced rhythms.

Rhythms are what turn belief into relationship.


The Kind of Faith That Endures

If you’re anything like me, you began your faith journey with bursts of intensity.

Moments of conviction.
Moments of clarity.
Moments where God felt especially near.

But those moments, powerful as they are, are not the foundation of a lasting faith.

For me, being “on fire for the Lord” was great at the beginning of my journey. But as so often happens with anything fiery, it often doesn’t take much to put it out. A bucket of water—being betrayed by a Christian friend, seeing people calling themselves Christians behaving in ways that never instructed them to—can quickly turn you into smoldering ashes.

Fiery faith can be a beautiful beginning. But lasting faith usually grows through something quieter.

Through daily choices.
Through small returns.
Through ordinary moments of trust.

It grows through rhythms. A daily walk with God, who is often not in any particular hurry.

Just as physical health comes from consistent habits rather than occasional effort, spiritual health grows through repeated practices that keep us close to God.

Prayer.
Scripture.
Stillness.
Gratitude.
Trust.
Fellowship with brothers and sisters in Christ.

None of these things are dramatic on their own.

But over time, they form something durable. Enduring.


Why Grace Moves in Rhythms

The phrase “unforced rhythms of grace” is striking because it describes something we often misunderstand.

Grace is not frantic.

Grace does not demand performance.

Grace invites participation.

God is not asking us to manufacture spiritual intensity. He is inviting us into a way of life that keeps us close to Him.

Walk with Me.
Work with Me.
Watch how I do it.

In other words:

Live life at My pace.

When we learn that pace, faith becomes less exhausting.

Not because life becomes easier—but because we stop trying to carry it alone.


The Slow Formation of a Steady Faith

Over time, something beautiful begins to happen.

Faith stops feeling like something we have to maintain.

Instead, it becomes something we live within.

The rhythms begin shaping us.

We become slower to panic.

Quicker to return.

More patient with others.

More trusting when outcomes remain unresolved.

What began as intentional practices gradually becomes a settled posture.

Not perfect faith.

But steady faith.


A Faith That Outlasts Circumstances

The truth is, life will always contain seasons of uncertainty.

Prayers will sometimes remain unanswered.

Plans will sometimes change.

Circumstances will sometimes resist our control.

But a faith rooted in the unforced rhythms of grace is not easily shaken.

Because it isn’t built on constant emotional highs.

It’s built on relationship.

On daily returning.

On quiet trust.

And over time, that kind of faith doesn’t just survive life’s storms.

It grows stronger through them, with Jesus in the boat beside us.


Go Deeper

Why Rhythms Matter More Than Moments

Many of us remember the moments when God felt especially close.

But Scripture suggests that lasting faith is formed less by dramatic moments and more by consistent rhythms.

Jesus Himself regularly withdrew to quiet places to pray.

“But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.”
Luke 5:16 (NIV)

He observed rhythms of rest.

He moved deliberately rather than hurriedly.

Even the structure of creation reflects rhythm:

Day and night.
Work and rest.
Seasons of planting and harvest.

God designed life to grow through repetition.

Which means the quiet practices that sometimes feel small—prayer, Scripture, gratitude, reflection—are actually the soil where durable faith grows.

A question to sit with this week:

What rhythms in my life are helping me stay close to God… and which ones might be pulling me away?

Faith that grows and lasts is rarely dramatic.

But it is deeply rooted.

And roots, though invisible, are what allow a life to stand firm.


Closing Encouragement

If your faith feels quiet right now…

If your walk with God feels more ordinary than dramatic…

That may not be a problem.

It may simply mean you are learning the unforced rhythms of grace.

The kind of rhythms that slowly form a faith that grows.

And lasts.

Same God.
Same grace.
Still walking beside you.

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The Patience of God

Introduction: When Slowness Is Personal

Over the past several weeks, we’ve talked about quiet seasons—about hurry, shame, returning, and learning to trust God even when the outcome doesn’t change.

Last week, we considered what grows in us when the prayer remains unanswered.

But there’s another angle worth sitting with.

What if God’s slowness isn’t just about our growth?

What if it’s about His character?

What if what feels like delay is actually patience?

Not weakness.
Not indecision.
Not distance.

Patience.


God Is Not Slow

Scripture makes a careful distinction:

The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you…
2 Peter 3:9 (NIV)

We interpret delay through the lens of urgency.

God operates through the lens of mercy.

What feels like slowness to us may actually be space—
space for repentance,
space for growth,
space for hearts to soften.

And Scripture reminds us that God does not act randomly or reactively. He moves “in the fullness of time.”

But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law.
Galatians 4:4 (ESV)

Not early.
Not late.
Not hurried.

At the right time.

God is not dragging His feet.

He is working toward fullness.

He is holding open the door until the moment is ripe.


The Patience We Depend On

If I’m honest, I’m deeply grateful for God’s patience when it applies to me.

I’m grateful He didn’t give up during seasons when my faith was inconsistent.

I’m grateful He didn’t withdraw when I wandered.

I’m grateful He didn’t demand instant maturity.

God has been patient with my growth.
Patient with my questions.
Patient with my weaknesses.

But here’s the harder part:

Am I as grateful for His patience when it affects what I want?


When Patience Delays What We Prefer

Sometimes God’s patience means someone else is being given more time.

Sometimes it means circumstances aren’t resolved as quickly as we’d like.

Sometimes it means we sit longer in uncertainty than feels comfortable.

We love patience when it protects us.

We struggle with patience when it stretches us.

But the same patience that gives us room to grow is the patience that shapes the world more gently than we would.

In my own life, of course, I have made mistakes. Sometimes they’ve been inconsequential, but others have had more material impacts on the trajectory of my life. In some cases, these mistakes have been direct results of me trying to force answers to my prayers that were not God’s answers.

Sometimes, my rush led to significantly difficult times in my life. Thanks to God’s good grace, though, he has found ways to get me back onto His intended trajectory for me, dragged me back onto His Path of Peace.

In hindsight, I have been able to see what’s God’s answers to my prayers have been. This has allowed me to compare and contrast how much better His answers have been over those I tried to force.

It has helped me understand more and more the benefit of waiting for His fullness of time.


The Strength Inside Divine Patience

Patience is not passive.

It is controlled strength.
It is power restrained for the sake of love.

God could act instantly.

He often chooses not to.

Not because He lacks authority—
but because He is working at a depth we cannot see.

Divine patience means:

He is never rushed.
He is never reactive.
He is never panicked.

And if we are walking with Him, we are slowly being shaped into that steadiness as well.


What God’s Patience Grows in Us

When we begin to trust God’s patience, something shifts in us.

We become less reactive.
Less controlling.
Less frantic about timelines.

We begin to reflect the patience we receive.

“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.”
—Ephesians 4:2 (NIV)

It’s almost as if the patience of God toward us becomes the patience of God through us.

And that is a different kind of maturity.


Learning to Rest Inside His Timing

Trusting the quiet teaches us to stay.

Trusting unresolved outcomes teaches us surrender.

Trusting God’s patience teaches us peace.

It allows us to say:

I don’t see the full picture.
I don’t understand the timeline.
But I trust the One who does.

That kind of trust isn’t urgent.

It is settled.


Go Deeper

Patience as an Expression of Love

We often define love emotionally.

Scripture defines it differently:

Borrowed from YouVersion

Patience is not just something God does.

It is something God is.

His patience toward us is not reluctant.
It is rooted in love.

Two questions to sit with this week:

Where in my life am I resisting God’s patience because it conflicts with my timeline?

And where might God be inviting me to reflect His patience toward someone else?

The quiet seasons we’ve been discussing aren’t empty.

They are classrooms.

And one of the deepest lessons taught there is this:

God is not slow.

He is patient.


Closing Encouragement

If you’re in a season that feels prolonged…

If the answer hasn’t come…

If the resolution feels delayed…

Don’t assume God is indifferent.

It may be that His patience is preparing something for its fullness.

And when the time is full He will move.

Same God.
Same faithfulness.
Still working.
Still forming.
Still patient.

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What Grows in the Quiet

Introduction: When the Prayer Remains Unanswered

Over the past several weeks, we’ve talked about quiet seasons—about hurry, shame, returning, and learning to trust God even when nothing dramatic seems to be happening.

But there’s another layer beneath all of that.

What if the quiet isn’t just slow…
What if it’s unresolved?

What if the prayer isn’t answered the way we hoped?

What if the healing doesn’t come?

What if the situation remains exactly as it is?

What grows in us then?

Frustration? Impatience? Disappointment?

Or Trust?

A Scene That Wouldn’t Let Me Go

This week, I listened to a podcast (In Totality with Megan Ashley) interview with Dallas Jenkins, the creator of The Chosen, my favorite show.

He talked about a powerful scene involving Little James, who lives with a physical disability. In the episode, James wrestles with a question many of us have felt but rarely say out loud:

How can I go out and tell others that Jesus heals… if He won’t heal me?

It’s honest.
It’s vulnerable.
It’s painfully real.

In the scene, Jesus makes something unmistakably clear: He can heal James. There is no question of power. But He also makes it clear that healing him now is not the Father’s plan.

At one point, Jesus says:

“I love you. And the Father and I have a different plan for you.”

In interviews, Jenkins has summarized the heart of that moment this way:

Believe that Jesus can heal you. Trust Him if He doesn’t.

That distinction has stayed with me all week.

Believe That He Can

Faith often begins with belief in what God can do.

He can heal.
He can restore.
He can resolve.
He can fix.

“Is anything too hard for the Lord?”
Genesis 18:14 (NIV)

And sometimes He does.

But there are seasons when He doesn’t.

And in those seasons, something else begins to grow.

When God Doesn’t Remove the Struggle

If hurry is about control, and returning without shame is about grace, then this next layer of faith is about surrender.

It’s about trusting God’s heart even when His hand does not move the way we hoped.

The quiet seasons—especially the unresolved ones—shift our faith from outcome-based trust to character-based trust.

Not:

“I trust You because You fixed it.”

But:

“I trust You because You are good.”

Borrowed from YouVersion

That kind of trust doesn’t grow in dramatic moments.

It grows slowly.
Often invisibly.
Like roots underground.


What the Quiet Forms in Us

When God does not remove the struggle, the quiet can grow things in us that comfort never could.

Dependence.
Humility.
Compassion.
Steadiness.

Paul described it this way:

“We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.”
Romans 5:3–4

Borrowed from YouVersion

We begin to love God not only for what He does, but for who He is.

We begin to follow Him not because every prayer resolves the way we hoped, but because we have come to trust His character more than our expectations.

And that is deeper faith.


The Strength That Only Forms Here

Over the past year, I’ve experienced moments when I believed God could change my circumstances—and sometimes He did.

But there were also moments when He didn’t remove the weight.

Instead, He strengthened me beneath it.
And in hindsight, that strength has lasted longer than the relief would have.

Borrowed from YouVersion

That difference matters.

Because when God doesn’t change the situation, He is still at work—often changing us.

And that change is rarely loud.

It grows quietly.
It grows slowly.
It grows in the quiet.


Go Deeper

Power vs. Trust

Most of us are comfortable believing in God’s power.

But Scripture consistently invites us into something deeper than belief in what God can do. It invites us to trust who God is.

In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed:

“Yet not my will, but yours be done.”
Luke 22:42

That prayer holds both truths:

Confidence in God’s ability.
Surrender to God’s wisdom.

Trust matures when we stop tying it exclusively to outcomes.

A gentle question to sit with this week:

Is my faith anchored more in what I want God to do
or in who I know Him to be?

Learning to trust the quiet doesn’t mean we stop asking.

It means we release the demand that trust depends on the answer we prefer.

And sometimes the deepest growth in our lives happens not when the situation changes—but when our trust does.


Closing Encouragement

If you are in a season where you believe God can change something—and He hasn’t—

You are not unseen.
You are not forgotten.

Borrowed from YouVersion

Something is growing.

Believe that He can.

And trust Him if He doesn’t.

Same God.
Same goodness.
Still forming you—even in the quiet.

Especially in the quiet.

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Learning to Trust the Quiet

Introduction: After the Return

There’s a moment that often comes after we return to God.

We’ve recognized our drifting.
We’ve turned back without shame.
We’ve rested again in the grace that was waiting for us all along.

And then… God remains quiet.

No sudden clarity.
No dramatic reassurance.
No emotional surge confirming that everything is resolved.

Just presence.
Stillness.
Ordinary days again.

And if you’re anything like me, and if we’re being honest, that’s sometimes where our trust in God is tested most.


When Quiet Feels Unsettling

We tend to associate God’s nearness with something we can feel:

Comfort.
Peace.
A sense of being held.

I cherish times when I feel these things so clearly. But when those sensations fade, I sometimes can’t help wondering whether something has shifted—whether God has stepped back again, or whether my return to Him didn’t quite “take.”

But Scripture tells a steadier story.

God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”
Hebrews 13:5 (NIV)

God’s presence is not sustained by sensation.
And trust is not built on constant reassurance.

Often, the quiet that follows our return is not distance—it’s stability.

The Difference Between Silence and Absence

We live in a world filled with noise. Notifications, conversations, opinions, constant input.

Silence can feel uncomfortable—like something is missing.

My wife is probably laughing about this, since I unintentionally annoy her by having music playing (usually quietly) pretty much all the time. I have different playlists for different activities—I feel like life should have a soundtrack. Really it’s because I have tinnitus, so the music soothes the constant ringing in my ears, but I like the soundtrack vibe better.

So in my defense, I’ll differentiate between noise that demands your attention—like notifications on our phones—and something that provides a gentle, calming backdrop for our everyday lives—like most of the music I listen to.

But back to the plot: in our walk with God, silence is often the environment where trust matures.

Be still, and know that I am God.
Psalm 46:10 (NIV)

God speaks clearly when clarity is needed.
But He often remains quietly present when clarity would distract from trust.

The absence of new words does not mean the absence of God.
It often means He has already said enough—and is now inviting us to live from what we’ve heard.

Trusting What We Cannot Feel

Faith eventually moves beyond the need for frequent confirmation.

Not because God becomes less kind.
Not because we become more capable.
But because relationship deepens.

Think of the people you trust most. You don’t need constant reassurance of their presence or commitment. You trust them because of who they are—and because of the history you share.

I still tell my wife that I love her, but she knows I do even when I don’t say it because we’ve been married almost 33 years and in relationship for 37 years. Our love does not need constant reassurance like it did when we first fell in love.

In the same way, God’s quiet presence invites us to trust His character rather than chase His signals.

As Paul the Apostle reminded us in his second letter to the church at Corinth:

We live by faith, not by sight.
2 Corinthians 5:7 (NIV)

This kind of trust doesn’t rush.
It doesn’t demand proof.
It rests, but still grows deeper.

The Quiet as a Gift

Learning to trust the quiet reshapes how we walk with God. This is what I am journeying through right now.

I’ve stopped scanning for signs.
I’ve stopped interpreting every emotional fluctuation.
I’ve stopped assuming that movement equals growth.

Instead, I am learning to stay present.

To keep praying even when prayer feels simple.
To keep walking even when the road looks familiar.
To keep trusting even when nothing seems to be happening.

This is not passive faith.
I am finding that it is deepening my faith.

It’s the kind of trust that grows roots.

Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord…
They will be like a tree planted by the water.
Jeremiah 17:7–8 (NIV)

Roots grow quietly.
But they hold when storms come.

Staying Close Without Needing More

The quiet seasons of faith teach us something essential:

God does not need to be louder to be nearer.

His presence doesn’t rise and fall with our emotions.
His faithfulness doesn’t fluctuate with our awareness.

When we learn to trust the quiet, we discover that God has been steady all along.

And that realization frees us from striving—to experience faith not as something we manage, but as a relationship we live within.

Go Deeper

Why God Often Grows Quieter as Trust Deepens

Early in faith, God often meets us with clarity and reassurance. He speaks loudly—not because He prefers it that way, but because we need it.

As trust grows, the relationship changes.

God becomes less directive and more formative.
Less instructional and more invitational.

This doesn’t mean God is less involved.
It means He is shaping us to trust Him more.

Quiet faith is not weaker faith.
It is faith that has learned to rest.

Borrowed from YouVersion

So here’s a gentle question to sit with this week:

What if God’s quiet presence is not something to overcome, but something to receive?

Learning to trust the quiet doesn’t mean we stop listening for God’s voice.
It means we stop assuming He is absent when He chooses to be still.


Closing Encouragement

If your walk with God feels quiet right now, don’t rush to fill the space.

Don’t assume you’re missing something.
Don’t assume you need something more.

It may simply be an invitation to trust—to live from what you already know to be true.

Same God.
Same presence.
Still near.

Even in the quiet.

Posted in Faith and Trust, Walking with God | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Returning to God Without Shame

Introduction: The Moment After We Notice

Last week, we talked about hurry—about how our impatience can make God’s slowness feel like absence, and how learning to walk at the speed of relationship keeps us close to Him.

But if you’re anything like me, there’s another moment you’ve encountered in this journey.

It’s the moment when we realize we’ve drifted.

Not dramatically.
Not rebelliously.
Just… gradually.

Life got busy.
Our attention scattered.
Fear crept in around the edges of our faith, trying to break it down.
Prayer became shorter, quieter, or more sporadic.

And once we notice the distance, something else often shows up right behind it.

Shame.

How could I have let this happen? I was just feeling so close to God….

Why Returning Can Feel Harder Than Wandering

Most of us don’t hesitate to wander—we are easily distracted.
We hesitate to return.

We replay how long it’s been.
We measure how far we’ve drifted.
We kick ourselves for falling away.

I should have known better.
I should be further along by now.
When is God going to give up on me?

That voice rarely tells us to abandon God outright.
Instead, it tells us to wait.

To get our act together.
To somehow strengthen our faith.
To get back into a “better place” spiritually before returning to God.

But that voice is not coming from God.

Grace Doesn’t Ask Us to Prepare—It Asks Us to Come

Scripture tells a remarkably consistent story about God.

God does not ask His children to repair themselves before returning.
He asks them to return so that restoration can begin.

Borrowed from YouVersion

Notice what Jesus doesn’t say.

He doesn’t say, “Come once you’ve figured it out.”
He doesn’t say, “Come after you’ve made it right.”

He says, Come. Come now, just as you are.

This is the same God Jesus describes in the parable of the prodigal son—the Father who doesn’t wait on the porch with crossed arms, but runs to meet his returning child.

Before explanations.
Before apologies.
Before promises to do better.

Shame tells us we need restoration before return.
Grace tells us restoration is exactly why we should return.

Returning Is Not Failure—It Is the Walk

One of the quiet lies many of us absorb is that returning means we’ve failed.

But returning is not regression.
It’s not starting over.
It’s not evidence that we’re bad at faith.

Returning is the walk.

Walking with God assumes moments of distraction, fatigue, misalignment, and even forgetfulness. What matters is not how often we drift—but how freely we return.

The most spiritually mature people are not the ones who never wander.
They are the ones who don’t stay away long.

When I’ve Needed This Most

I’ve learned this more deeply over the last six months than at almost any other time in my life.

Since my dad passed away last August, the season that followed was physically and emotionally draining. There has been so much to do—logistics, decisions, responsibilities as the executor of his estate—and so many raw emotions moving through me at the same time.

Countless times during that period, I turned to God and found comfort in His strong arms. I honestly don’t know how I would have made it through without having built my life on Christ—the only solid bedrock when everything else felt unstable.

I share that not to pat myself on the back or suggest some heroic level of faith.

Because even in that season—when my faith felt steady and real—there were still times (too many times) when I wandered.

Times when I tried building extensions onto my life-house on quicksand instead of rock:
my career,
my bank account,
even my family.

But then fear or stress or hopelessness would creep in around the edges of my life.

But then each time, thanks to God, I would recognize that I had strayed away from the solid foundation. From the peace, wholeness, hope, joy, strength, and comfort that Jesus offers.

And with this recognition, each time I turned back toward God.

And there He was.

Not distant.
Not disappointed.
Not withdrawn.
But waiting, running to us—arms stretched wide.

Arms shaped like a cross.

Learning to Turn Back Gently

Returning to God does not require drama.

It doesn’t require lengthy explanations.
It doesn’t require rehearsing our failure.
It doesn’t require emotional intensity.

Sometimes the holiest prayer is simply:

“Here I am.”

That small turning—without excuses, without self-punishment—is often where closeness is restored.

God’s presence does not grow cold when we drift.
It waits.

And more often than not, it is closer than we expect.

The Freedom of Shame-Free Return

When we begin to return without shame, something changes.

We stop measuring distance.
We stop managing appearances.
We stop delaying intimacy.

We realize that God is not keeping score.
He is keeping company.

And that frees us to walk lightly again—to stay close, not because we’re perfect, but because we’re honest.

And because there’s no better place to be than abiding in our merciful, loving God.


Go Deeper

Why Shame Delays Healing

Shame doesn’t usually drive us away from God.
It delays us.

It convinces us that we must develop stronger faith before we’re welcome.
That we must prove we understand what went wrong.
That we must fix ourselves before being close again.

But Scripture tells us something different:

Borrowed from YouVersion

Grace does not wait for readiness.
Grace creates it.

If holiness protects nearness, then grace protects return.

That’s why repentance in Scripture is not about self-condemnation.
It’s about turning.
Re-orienting.
Coming home.

So here’s a gentle question to sit with this week:

What would it look like for me to return to God without rehearsing my failure first?

Learning to return without shame doesn’t mean sin doesn’t matter.
It means grace matters more.

Closing Encouragement

If you’ve noticed distance lately, don’t assume something is wrong with you.

It may simply be an invitation to return—without fear, without shame. Without delay.

The Father is not standing still.
He is already moving toward you.

Same God.
Same grace.
Still running.
Still ready to pick up the relationship right where you left it.

Breath Prayer

If it helps, here’s a simple breath prayer I’m going to try this week—especially in moments when I notice myself drifting or feeling distant.

Inhaling, pray quietly:
“Here I am, Father.”

Exhaling, pray:
“I receive Your grace.”

You can do this while walking, driving, or sitting in silence.
No explanation required.
No fixing needed.
Just turning—and being held.

Posted in Grace & Restoration, Spiritual Growth, Walking with God | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Our Hurry vs. the Slowness of God

Introduction: When Quiet Turns into Restlessness

Last week, we talked about what it means to walk with God when it feels like nothing is happening—about waiting, quiet faithfulness, and trusting God even when progress isn’t obvious.

But there’s another layer to that experience that many of us wrestle with, often without naming it.

It’s not just that God feels quiet.

It’s that we feel restless.

We’re willing to wait… for a while.
We’re willing to trust… to a point.

And then something inside us starts to push.

Shouldn’t something be happening by now?
Am I missing a step?
Is God waiting on me—or am I waiting on Him?

It’s this kind of thinking that can lead us to wonder where God is in our struggles.

But that tension often has less to do with God’s absence and more to do with our hurry.

Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him.
Psalm 37:7 (NIV)


The Pace We Bring into Our Faith

Most of us live at a fast pace.

We value productivity.
We look for progress.
We measure growth by visible results.

That mindset works reasonably well in many areas of life. But it doesn’t translate cleanly into a life lived with God.

Hurry assumes growth should be noticeable.
God often works invisibly.

Hurry looks for forward momentum.
God seems content with depth.

Hurry treats silence as a problem to solve.
God treats silence as space to inhabit.

So when God moves more slowly than we expect, our instinct is often to compensate—to pray harder, analyze more deeply, or search for something we might be doing wrong.

But Scripture suggests that God’s pace is not accidental.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.
Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NIV)


The Slowness of God Is Not Inactivity

Throughout the Bible, God forms people slowly.

Promises unfold over years.
Character develops over decades.
Transformation happens beneath the surface long before it’s visible.

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.
2 Corinthians 4:16 (NIV)

The problem isn’t that God is slow.
The problem is that slowness feels unproductive to us.

But faithfulness has never been measured by speed.
It has always been measured by direction.

Walking with God isn’t sustained by intensity or constant reassurance. It’s sustained by orientation—by where we turn when nothing dramatic seems to be happening.

Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is keep walking at God’s pace, even when it feels inefficient.


Hurry as a Subtle Form of Control

One of the quieter realizations I’ve had is this:

Hurry is often a form of control.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.
Proverbs 3:5 (NIV)

When we rush, we’re usually trying to move things along—toward clarity, certainty, or resolution. But relationship doesn’t deepen on a deadline, and God doesn’t seem interested in being hurried.

God’s slowness creates room:

  • room to notice what we’d otherwise miss
  • room to loosen our grip on outcomes
  • room to trust without constant confirmation

In that sense, slowness isn’t God withholding progress.
It’s God inviting surrender.


Learning to Walk at the Speed of Relationship

If walking with God is about proximity, and abiding is about remaining oriented toward Him, then staying close requires a pace slow enough to notice His presence.

Not striving.
Not manufacturing momentum.
Not assuming something is wrong simply because things feel still.

Sometimes the most mature act of faith is simply refusing to rush God. Slowing down to wait for Him.

To keep showing up.
To stay present.
To trust that slowness is not a setback, but a gift.

Because God has never been in a hurry. Often, God is found most clearly in stillness.

The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness.
2 Peter 3:9 (NIV)

And learning to walk with Him means learning to slow down enough to remain close to Him, where blessings are found.


Go Deeper

Why Hurry Erodes Nearness

Hurry doesn’t just exhaust us—it distorts how we interpret God.

When we’re hurried, we tend to:

  • mistake silence for absence
  • confuse slowness with inactivity
  • treat growth as something to manage

Scripture consistently presents God as unhurried—not because He lacks urgency, but because He is attentive. He is forming people, not producing outcomes.

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart.
Isaiah 40:11 (NIV)

Hurry pressures us to move ahead of God—to draw conclusions too quickly, to correct ourselves prematurely, or to demand reassurance before trust has had time to deepen.

Grace invites a different posture:
stay, slow down, and trust that God’s pace is purposeful.

Here’s a gentle question to sit with this week:

Where might my hurry be interfering with my ability to notice God’s presence?

Learning to slow down isn’t about doing less.
It’s about walking at the speed of relationship.


Closing Encouragement

If God feels slower than you’d like right now, don’t assume something is wrong.

It may simply mean He’s doing a deeper work than hurry would allow.

Same God.
Same faithfulness.
Just a slower pace—one designed for closeness.

Posted in Christian Living, Faith and Trust, Waiting on God, Walking with God | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Walking with God When It Feels Like Nothing Is Happening

Introduction

Last week, we reflected on a difficult but comforting truth: God’s presence with us does not disappear because of our sin. Thankfully, His faithfulness is not as fragile as our obedience.

Actually, His faithfulness is not fragile at all. It’s unshakeable.

And yet—even when we believe that to be true—many of us still struggle with a different kind of tension.

God, Are You There?

What about the seasons when God feels silent?

You’re praying.
You’re reading Scripture.
You’re trying to walk faithfully.

And still—nothing seems to be happening.

No clear answers.
No strong sense of direction.
No obvious movement.

Just ordinary days, strung together with waiting.

When Faith Feels Like Waiting

We often assume that walking with God should feel active—marked by insight, reassurance, or visible forward momentum. When it doesn’t, we’re tempted to wonder whether we’ve stalled spiritually or missed something important.

But Scripture tells a more honest story.

Many of God’s people experienced long stretches of quiet faithfulness. Seasons where obedience looked less like bold action and more like steady trust. God’s work is often slow, and slow work can feel indistinguishable from no work at all.

Waiting, it turns out, is not a detour in the life of faith.
It is often the path itself.

Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him.
Psalm 37:7 (NIV)

Why do you suppose David was inspired to pen these words? Could it have been a reminder to himself (and now to all of us) that he needed to trust God and His timing instead of assuming He forgot about David’s impassioned prayers?

When God’s Silence Feels Like Absence

If you’re anything like me, this is an area where you quietly struggle.

The Bible depicts moments when people seem to speak with God directly—almost conversationally. Abraham reasons with God. Moses pleads and argues. God responds. Engages. Even appears to “change His mind.”

Meanwhile, we pray and hear nothing.

That contrast can create real dissonance. If they spoke with God so clearly, why don’t we? Is something wrong with us? Or were those stories simply exaggerated?

But there’s a crucial piece of the story we can’t overlook.

Abraham and Moses lived before Jesus.

They did not yet have the full revelation of God’s heart. They did not have God-with-us in human form. Those dramatic encounters were not everyday experiences—they were a few pivotal moments in God’s unfolding relationship with His people.

When Jesus enters the story, the mode of relationship changes.

Jesus doesn’t negotiate with God—He reveals Him. He speaks of God not as a distant authority to be reasoned with, but as Father. He shows us what life lived in constant communion with God actually looks like.

The term He used most often to address God was “Dad“—a word intended to convey familiarity and affection.

But How Can We Do This Without You???

And as Jesus was getting ready to leave this earth (for the time being), His disciples wondered how in the world they would continue His work without Him. But Jesus was preparing them to receive the Holy Spirit—God’s presence even closer and more consistent than ever before.

No longer external.
No longer occasional.
No longer requiring the physical presence of a Person.
No longer dependent on extraordinary encounters.

God’s work becomes quieter—but deeper.

Silence, then, is not absence.
It is often intimacy without spectacle.

God may feel less dramatic now than the stories of Abraham and Moses—but He is no less near.

The Slow Faithfulness God Often Uses

Much of what God does in us happens beneath the surface.

Like roots growing underground, His work is usually invisible while it’s happening—and only obvious later, when something holds firm under pressure.

Formation takes time. Trust grows slowly. Faith matures in repetition, not fireworks.

If God feels quiet, it may not be because He has stepped away.
It may be because He is doing a deeper work than you can sense while He’s doing it.

Walking Even When It Feels Ordinary

Walking with God isn’t primarily about moments of clarity—it’s about remaining present when clarity doesn’t come. It’s about continuing forward, even when the road looks the same day after day.

Walking with God when it feels like nothing is happening may be one of the most faithful things we ever do.

Not because it feels spiritual.
But because it shows God that we trust Him, that we believe He is at work even when we can’t see it.

That’s faith.


Go Deeper

Why They Heard God—and We Often Don’t

Abraham and Moses lived in moments of transition, when God was forming covenant identity and direction. Their encounters were extraordinary because the story itself was still being established.

But they also lived before Jesus.

Jesus changes everything.

He doesn’t simply speak for God—He is the clearest expression of God. Where earlier figures negotiated, Jesus reveals. Where others stood at a distance, Jesus draws near.

Because of Jesus, God’s presence is no longer something we occasionally encounter—it is something we live within.

So if your prayers feel quiet, and God seems silent, it doesn’t mean God is farther away than He was from Abraham or Moses.

It may mean He is closer than you realize.

Question: “If God spoke so directly to people in the Bible, why doesn’t He speak that way to me?”

At the risk of sounding a bit crazy, I have to admit that as I was writing this blog post, this question popped into my mind. I don’t know, maybe it sounds like I was arguing with myself. Nevertheless, I thought it was worth addressing.

It’s an honest question—and it matters.

Abraham and Moses lived during moments when God was establishing covenant foundations. Their encounters were rare and formative.

Jesus represents a different kind of relationship.

Instead of occasional conversations, Jesus offers ongoing communion.
Instead of God speaking from outside, God speaks from within.
Instead of constant instruction, God forms trust through presence.

The absence of dramatic dialogue doesn’t mean faith is weaker now.
It means God is nearer.

Faith after Jesus isn’t about hearing more words.
It’s about learning to recognize a presence.

Questions for Further Reflection

  • Do I expect God to speak to me the same way He did in earlier chapters of Scripture?
  • How does Jesus reshape what I expect “conversation with God” to look like?
  • Where might God be at work in my life in ways that feel quiet, slow, or ordinary?

A Final Encouragement

If you’re walking with God and it feels like nothing is happening, don’t assume that’s the case.

Remember that some of God’s most important work happens quietly—after the conversations, after the miracles, after the last praise song has faded. It happens in the depth of our being.

We usually can’t recognize that it’s happening while it’s happening. But then one day, we will suddenly feel God’s presence stronger than we ever have. We’ll step into a situation that would have tripped us up previously, and pass through it without even a stumble. We’ll say or achieve something we never would have thought possible. It may be only then that the imperceptible becomes something you notice.

That’s how God often works, my friends.

Different season.
Same God.
Still walking with us, abiding in us. Blessing us beyond anything we could ever imagine.

Posted in Biblical Reflections, Faith and Spiritual Growth, Walking with God | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

God’s Abiding Presence—and Our Sin

Introduction

Last week, I wrote about the idea of walking with God—about proximity, presence, and how faithfulness is measured less by accomplishments and more by nearness. That reflection has stayed with me. But over the days that followed, another realization began to surface, one that reframed something I thought I already understood.

For most of my life, I’ve thought about God’s commands—especially the Ten Commandments—in terms of behavior.

Do this.
Don’t do that.
Follow the rules.

Commandments as Guardrails

Even when I believed those commands were good—and I did—I often experienced them as guardrails. Necessary, protective, but external. Something to manage. Something to get right.

But as I’ve spent this year walking more intentionally with God—reading Scripture slowly, reflecting, writing, and allowing questions to linger—I’ve come to see something deeper:

God’s concern with sin is not primarily about behavior modification.
It is about proximity.

That shift has changed everything.

God’s Holiness and His Presence

In Scripture, God’s holiness isn’t presented as an abstract moral category. It’s relational. God is holy not simply because He is perfect, but because He is other—utterly pure, wholly good, and life-giving in a way that broken humanity is not.

That’s why God’s presence is so powerful—and so dangerous.

Throughout the Old Testament, we see this tension again and again. God longs to dwell with His people, yet His presence must be mediated, veiled, approached carefully. Not because God is fragile or easily offended, but because sin and holiness cannot coexist without harm.

A holy God walking closely with sin-filled people
would not heal them—
it would destroy them.

Conditions for Closeness

Seen this way, God’s direction not to sin is not arbitrary. It’s not about control. It’s not about image management or moral scorekeeping. It’s about creating the conditions for closeness.

Sin doesn’t just break rules.
Sin fractures relationship.
Sin creates distance.

And not because God storms off—but because sin deforms us. It makes us incompatible with sustained nearness to the God who is Life itself.

Realization and a Hug from God

When this finally clicked for me—after nearly fifty years of following Christ—it wasn’t just an intellectual realization. It was physical.

I felt a distinct tingling sensation throughout my body. The only way I can describe it is this: it felt like God was giving me a big hug.

And it was wonderful.

More of You

There was no fear in it. No condemnation. No checklist running through my head. Just a deep sense of being held—of closeness restored. And in that moment, something else became clear: if this is what God’s presence feels like, I want more of it.

Not more knowledge.
Not more accomplishment.
Not even more certainty.

More nearness.

Reframing Obedience

That experience didn’t make me care less about sin. It made me understand it differently. Sin isn’t dangerous because God is petty or punitive. It’s dangerous because it interferes with intimacy. It introduces distance where relationship is meant to exist.

This reframes obedience entirely.

God’s commands are not a ladder to climb toward Him.
They are not a test to pass so He will approve of us.

They are boundaries designed to protect relationship
to keep us from becoming the kind of people who can no longer walk closely with a holy God without harm.

In that sense, obedience is not the goal.
Closeness is.

Obedience is simply what closeness requires in a broken world.

Living in the Tension

And if that tension feels unbearable—
holiness on one side, broken humanity on the other—
that’s what makes the story of Jesus so extraordinary.

In Christ, God doesn’t lower the standard of holiness.
He clothes it in mercy.

Jesus becomes the place where God’s presence and human brokenness can finally meet without destruction. Not by ignoring sin, but by bearing it. Not by redefining holiness, but by fulfilling it.

What God Wants: Restoration

Which means the commandments were never the destination.
They were always pointing toward a restored walk.

A walk where obedience flows from love.
A walk where holiness becomes life-giving rather than lethal.
A walk where closeness is no longer dangerous—but healing.

And that, I’m learning, is what God has wanted all along.


Go Deeper

As a reminder, this new section serves as “extra credit” for those interested in exploring these topics at a deeper level.

Why Holiness Protects Nearness

If God’s concern with sin is ultimately about closeness, then the spiritual question begins to shift.

It’s no longer only What should I stop doing?
It becomes What am I carrying that makes nearness harder?

Some of the weight we carry is obvious—patterns we know are misaligned with God’s heart. But some of it is quieter and more socially acceptable: self-reliance, control, the need to understand, the pressure to perform, the habit of measuring our worth by outcomes. Might as well throw impatience in there as well—I want my prayers answered and I want it NOW!

These don’t always feel like sin.
Often, they feel like strength. Success. Getting things done.

And yet they still create distance.

Scripture shows us that God is careful with His presence—not because He is unwilling to draw near, but because He knows what proximity requires. His holiness is not opposed to relationship; it is the reason relationship must be handled with care.

This is why God sometimes appears to keep distance in the biblical story—not as punishment, but as mercy. Nearness without transformation would harm the very people He loves.

Holiness, seen this way, is not about earning God’s approval.
It’s about making room.

Making room for God to draw near without destroying us.
Making room for a relationship that heals rather than overwhelms.

So the deeper question worth sitting with this week is a gentle one:

What might I need to lay down in order to stay close to God?

Not out of fear.
Not out of guilt.

But out of desire—for the kind of nearness that feels like being held.

Posted in Biblical Reflections, Faith & Spiritual Growth, Walking with God | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment