Expecting God to Be Loud
For a long time, I expected God to be obvious.
I thought faith meant clarity—clear direction, clear answers, clear confirmation that I was doing the right thing. I assumed if God was truly near, I would feel it unmistakably. Peace would come quickly. Confusion would disappear. Decisions would feel easier.
When none of that happened, I started to wonder if God had gone silent—or if I had somehow drifted too far to hear Him anymore.
The Discomfort of Silence
There were seasons where I prayed and felt nothing in return.
No comfort. No sudden insight. No sense of relief.
Just silence.
That silence was uncomfortable. It made me question myself. It made me replay old mistakes and wonder if they had finally disqualified me from being heard. It made faith feel fragile, like something I had to keep alive on my own.
I didn't stop believing—but I did stop expecting much.
Discovering a Different Kind of Nearness
Looking back, I can see how wrong my assumptions were.
God wasn't absent in those quiet seasons. He just wasn't operating on my preferred volume. Instead of reassurance, there was restraint. Instead of answers, there was space. Instead of immediate clarity, there was a slow shaping happening beneath the surface.
I was learning to walk without leaning so heavily on emotional confirmation.
Faith Without the Feelings
There's a version of faith that depends on how it feels.
And then there's a version that survives when feelings don't cooperate.
The second kind is harder. It doesn't give you the comfort of certainty or the relief of resolution. It asks you to keep showing up—to keep choosing trust—without any guarantee that today will feel better than yesterday.
But it also builds something sturdier.
Faith that isn't driven by emotion becomes rooted in commitment. It becomes less about how God makes you feel and more about who He has proven Himself to be over time.
Recognizing God in the Ordinary
In those quiet seasons, God showed up in smaller ways.
In consistency instead of miracles.
In provision instead of abundance.
In restraint instead of rescue.
Nothing flashy. Nothing dramatic. Just enough.
And showhow that "enough" kept carrying me forward.
Learning to Trust the Silence
I'm beginning to understand that silence doesn't mean abandonment.
Sometimes it means God is allowing room for growth—room for discernment, maturity, and trust that isn't dependent on constant reassurance.
Faith isn't always God speaking loudly.
Sometimes it's God trusting you to keep walking.
And maybe that's its own kind of closeness.
"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, 'This is the way: walk in it.'" — Isaiah 30:21