Today has been quiet. Not the kind of quiet that brings peace, necessarily — more like the kind of quiet that feels like You’re hiding. I don’t want to admit it, but I’ve felt distant from You lately, like I’m calling out into a canyon and all I hear is my own voice echoing back. It scares me.
I keep thinking of Elijah in 1 Kings 19. After the fire, after the earthquake, after the wind… there You were — not in the chaos, but in the still small voice. A whisper.
“And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper.”
— 1 Kings 19:12 (ESV)
I wonder if I’m just too distracted to hear Your whisper.
This morning, I sat with my coffee and tried to read the Word like I usually do. But I’ll be honest — I didn’t get far. My mind kept wandering to everything I feel like I’m missing: direction, clarity, certainty. I want to know what You want from me — with my career, with my singleness, with this sense of waiting I can’t shake.
I know faith isn’t about feelings. I know that. I’ve told myself that a hundred times. But I miss feeling You near.
So I prayed:
“God, if You’re here — please, help me to hear You. Even in the silence. Especially in the silence.”
And right then, I felt a strange peace settle over me. Not loud. Not even warm, really. But steady. Like a whisper I couldn’t quite catch, but I knew was meant for me.
Maybe that’s what faith looks like sometimes — trusting that You’re present even when You don’t speak loud.
I remembered Psalm 46:10:
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
Being still is harder than it sounds. My brain constantly wants answers. Movement. Resolution. But You invite me into stillness. Not just quiet around me, but quiet in me. A heart that isn’t frantic for answers but anchored in You.
Faith, I think, is most real when it has to lean on who You are, not what I can hear or feel.
“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
— Hebrews 11:1 (ESV)
I guess I’ve been measuring closeness with You by how “seen” or “heard” I feel. But maybe this is one of those seasons where You’re inviting me deeper — past the emotional highs, into the quiet trust.
Like a relationship that matures. Less fireworks, more foundation.
There’s something beautiful and hard about that.
I walked down to the lake near my apartment this evening. The water was still — not a breeze. Just birdsong and the hum of life going on. I sat on a bench and asked You again: “Are You here?” I didn’t hear a voice. No signs. But my eyes caught this tiny ripple on the surface of the lake — like something beneath moved, unseen, but there.
I don’t know why, but I thought: That’s You. Moving beneath the surface of my life. Quietly. Faithfully. Even when I can’t see it. Even when I forget to notice.
It reminded me of Isaiah 30:15:
“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”
That’s the kind of strength I want. Not the kind that performs or pretends to have it all figured out. But the quiet strength of a heart that trusts You are good — especially when I don’t have the map.
Jesus, I believe You are enough for me in the silence. I don’t need a booming voice or a perfect plan. I just need You. And You’ve promised You’ll never leave.
“And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
— Matthew 28:20 (ESV)
Tonight, I’ll go to bed still not knowing exactly what’s next. Still single. Still unsure about grad school. Still a little worn down. But I will lay my head down in peace — not because the silence is gone, but because You are in it.
You whisper, and that’s enough.
Let me learn to lean in. To trust even when You seem far. To believe that You’re close even when it feels quiet.
A Prayer Before I Sleep:
God,
Thank You for meeting me in the silence.
Even when I can’t feel You, You’re faithful.
Teach me to listen for Your whispers —
Not just in the quiet around me,
But in the stillness of my soul.
Grow my faith in the unseen.
Help me to rest in Your presence —
Not because I have all the answers,
But because I know You hold them.
I love You, even when I don’t understand.
I trust You, even when You whisper.
And I’m Yours, always.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
The Christian Tech-Nerd 