when God goes silent

Where are you?

       I whispered Sunday morning, as I stood in a pew.

Words of praise and truth that have continually brought so much comfort suddenly feel so… simplisic.

God rarely feels distant to me.

As I’ve grown and matured, I’ve come to value honesty and consistency in my faith.

I believe that God is big enough to handle all of my thoughts.

All my confusion.

All my hurt.

All my actions.

I believe that God has a history of faithfulness.

Of restoration.

Of love.

Of incomprehensible wisdom.

So I talk to God.

A lot.

And I don’t know how to describe it in plain words, because I don’t think faith can ever be fully described in words.

But my dialogue is in my mornings, as I ask for strength to simply get through the day.

My dialogue with God is in my contented sigh as I see strokes of pink in the sky as I walk to class.

My dialogue is in me complaining to God that some people are just so stupid and I cannot comprehend what goes on in their mind, and him gently reminding me of a concept called grace, which I find annoying.

My dialogue is in music and movement within a dance studio

It’s in tears that stream down my face in the hot shower, as I think think think

My dialogue is ever present.

Because I believe God is ever present.

I’ve observed some people incredibly in-tune with Jesus,

And they continually point me to him.

To seek,

To listen,

To be still,

And to be honest.

Friends, I am seeking.

I’m listening.

I’m tying to be still and honest.

I hear nothing.

And

God

Feels

So

Quiet.

God may be quiet.

But he is also present.

And I’m trying to understand that his presence is enough,

no matter how lonely or confused I may feel.

God is in the sky.

God is in peaceful car rides.

God is in people.

And that is enough.