Hearing Him In the Quiet

During my journey with the Lord, I’ve come to realize something deeply personal—He speaks to each of us differently.

If I’m being honest, there was a time I felt a quiet kind of jealousy watching my husband’s relationship with God. The Lord speaks to him so clearly, so boldly. There’s no question when it happens.

And then there was me… waiting, wondering, straining to hear anything at all.

I started to question myself.
Was I doing something wrong?
Was I not praying enough? Not praying the “right” way?
Why did it feel like everyone else could hear him… but me?

But God, in his gentle and patient way, showed me something I’ll never forget:
Just like any loving Father, he speaks to his children in different ways.

That truth didn’t come to me in a quiet, peaceful moment.
It came in the middle of grief.

In the days following the loss of my friend Beth, I felt like I was unraveling. Her passing shook me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Truthfully, I haven’t experienced much loss in my life, and the previous  times I did, I avoided it completely. I buried it in work, distraction—anything to not feel it.

And I was ready to do that again.

I had volunteered to help set up for a big church event that day. I remember walking in, focused on the task, already trying to outrun what I didn’t want to face. I was looking for one of the women from Bible study, but instead I found Pastor Rick.

He didn’t know how close Beth and I were.
He didn’t know what his words would do.

And just like that… everything stopped.

The news hit me harder than I expected, and I didn’t handle it well. My heart broke right there in that moment, and I remember feeling almost embarrassed by how deeply it affected me. I even felt bad for him—for being the one to say it out loud.

But still, I tried to pull it together. I told myself, just keep moving. Stay busy. Don’t feel it. Not now.

And that’s when God stepped in.

“Not today.”

Instead of continuing on with setup, I found myself walking into the Bible Study. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t think about it. I was just… led there.

And within 30 minutes of hearing the news, I was sitting in a circle of women—crying, remembering, sharing stories about Beth. We spoke about her laughter, her kindness, the light she carried so effortlessly into every room.

There was so much pain in that room… but there was also so much love.

And somehow, in the middle of all that heartbreak, I felt held.

I went home that night still grieving, but no longer running from it. There was a peace I couldn’t explain—a quiet steadiness that told me I wasn’t alone in it.

The next morning, my dad sent me a YouTube song like he always does. Usually it’s something from Joe Bonamassa or Eric Clapton. But this time, it was “All My Tears Be Washed Away.”

What made it even more meaningful… he had no idea Beth had passed.

I just sat there, listening, and felt the weight of it. Not overwhelming—but comforting. Like a hand resting gently on my shoulder.

That was Him.

Not loud.
Not overwhelming.
But unmistakably present.

In the days that followed, the Lord didn’t take the grief away—but he walked me through it. He gave me space to feel it, but also surrounded me with exactly what I needed. He led me to Psalm 77, where sorrow and faith sit side by side—where questioning and remembering God’s goodness somehow coexist.

And little by little, I began to see it…

He had been speaking to me all along.

Through people.
Through timing.
Through songs I didn’t expect.
Through Scripture that met me exactly where I was.

As it says:

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

He is always speaking.

I just wasn’t recognizing his voice because I was expecting it to sound different.

Now I understand—some of his children need the thunder.
Others… need the whisper.

And there is something so tender, so deeply personal, about being spoken to in a whisper.

So if you’re in a season where you feel like you can’t hear him…
maybe he’s not absent.

Maybe he’s just being gentle with you.

Slow down.
Be still.
Let yourself feel, instead of run.

You may find that in the quiet, in the spaces you once tried to avoid…

He’s been there the whole time.

Stepping Into the Sunshine

A couple of weeks ago, we were given a glimpse of something we had almost forgotten.

After a long, cold winter, a few beautiful days arrived like a quiet gift. The kind where you could step outside with just a light jacket—or none at all—and feel completely unencumbered. The air didn’t bite at your skin. The sun didn’t just shine; it warmed you. It felt like it reached all the way through to your bones, waking something up that had been dormant for far too long.

Even the simplest things felt different. Doing chores outside was no longer a battle against the elements. Without bulky coats and stiff gloves, you could move freely. There was ease. There was joy. There was lightness.

And then, just as quickly, the cold came back.

The biting wind returned. The heaviness of layers. The resistance in every movement. Suddenly, everything felt harder again. What had briefly been effortless became a struggle.

And standing there in the cold, I couldn’t help but think—this is exactly what my life used to feel like.

Before I found God, life felt like winter… all the time.

Everything was harder than it needed to be. I felt alone, like I had to fight for every inch of progress. Approval from others became something I chased constantly, hoping it would fill a void I couldn’t quite name. It was exhausting. But at the time, I didn’t know anything different. I thought that was just what life was—heavy, cold, and something to endure rather than enjoy.

Then, everything changed.

Finding Jesus didn’t just shift my perspective—it transformed my entire experience of life. It was like stepping out of that endless winter and into the warmth of the sun for the very first time.

I feel free now in a way I can hardly put into words. The constant striving is gone. The loneliness has been replaced with a deep, steady presence. I no longer look to the world for approval—I look to the Lord, and in Him, I have already found it.

But it didn’t stop there.

Through Him, I came to understand love in a completely new way. Not the conditional, fragile kind I had known before—but a love that is constant, forgiving, and unshakable. A love that doesn’t see me as too broken, too damaged, or too far gone.

For most of my life, I carried the weight of feeling unworthy. Things that had been done to me, and the behaviors that followed, left me believing I had no real value. That I was somehow beyond redemption.

But that is not the truth.

No one is beyond redemption. Not one of us.

God’s love is so immense, so all-encompassing, that He gave His Son so that we could have eternal life. Not because we earned it. Not because we proved ourselves. But simply because we are loved.

There are no impossible barriers. No unreachable standard. We are called to love the Lord and to love each other—and in that, we find everything.

Life without Jesus feels like living in winter without end.

But life with Him?

It’s like stepping into summer.

Warmth replaces cold. Light replaces darkness. Freedom replaces striving. And suddenly, you’re not just surviving—you’re living.

If you’ve been standing in the cold for a long time, believing that’s all there is… I promise you, it’s not.

You don’t have to stay there.

All you have to do is step into the sunshine.