There’s something glamorous and magical in the notion of God speaking to man. The concept of the Divine breaking through heavenly barriers to whisper a morsel of truth or hint of the future; it’s like an infallible fortune cookie waiting to be cracked open. I have sat with this notion often; waiting, hoping and praying that God would break the silence and speak to me; certain that His voice would bring the clarity and comfort I so desperately want.
But God’s voice in my life has rarely been comforting. It’s been raw and unnerving, and honestly, pretty inconvenient. His words are too close, too real, His truths too exposing of the lies ingrained in every relationship and every pursuit. It’s quite terrifying actually. His voice consistently reveals new realities through which I’m forced to process my world and myself. And while He’s never left me to navigate these new realities on my own, it’s painful and exhausting nonetheless.
I’ve been working to reconcile my insatiable desire to hear from God with my paralyzing fear of what He might actually have to say, and I’m learning that as with most things in my life, it’s a matter of trust. I don’t trust that what He’s saying is for good, I don’t trust Him to walk with me in these new realities, and I don’t trust my own capacity for the life He’s gently calling me to.
There’s no pretty bow to tie these thoughts up, just a commitment to open my hands a little more today to receive whatever God might have for me whether it’s a word, a feeling, or a gift, and to surrender anything I’ve been holding on to that was never any of my business to begin with.
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