When Silence Speaks

Sometimes, we struggle to hear God — not because He’s silent, but because we’re too surrounded by noise.

Busyness drowns out the still, small voice. It’s not that He’s stopped speaking; it’s that we’ve stopped listening. Not intentionally, of course. But when the calendar fills, when the phone won’t stop buzzing, when responsibilities pile up like an avalanche — it’s easy to miss the whisper.\

But oh, when we slow down… when we sit in the quiet, even if it feels awkward or uncomfortable at first… we begin to hear again.

• Sometimes, in a sense of peace, that stills the anxious fluttering.

• Sometimes, in a mental picture or a memory, it is coloured with new meaning.

• Sometimes, in a knowing — a deep soul-resonance that cannot be explained, only experienced.

God does not shout to compete. He whispers to invite.

And rest, I’ve found, is what tunes our hearts back to His voice.

There was a season not long ago when I thought I had permanently lost the ability to hear Him. I was doing all the right things — serving, singing, leading. From the outside, I looked “fine.” But inside I was unravelling. Layers of old wounds — abandonment, rejection, abuse — were catching up with me. And when the pandemic forced everything to a halt, all the noise that had kept me going disappeared… and I was left with silence.

But in that stillness, something unexpected happened.

God met me. Not in a lightning-bolt kind of way. Not even in a tidy, miracle-moment testimony. No — He came gently. Through tears, I couldn’t hold back anymore.

Through a prophetic word to “INVEST” — a word that felt scandalous to a woman who had believed she was a waste of time, space and money.

Through art, of all things — through colour and brush strokes, where I remembered how to breathe again.

I learned that silence isn’t absence. It’s an invitation. That rest is not weakness — it’s surrender. And that in that surrendered stillness, I could hear His voice calling me again. Calling me by my name and reminding me of who I am. Not what I’ve done. Not what I failed to do. Simply, who I am. A woman of excellence.

There is a quiet that heals. A hush that doesn’t hide us but finds us.

When we lean into that stillness — not numbing out but truly resting — we begin to hear the truth we’ve been aching for.

• You are loved.

• You are wanted.

• You belong.

His voice doesn’t push.

• It draws.

• It doesn’t mean shame.

• It restores.

Even now, He is whispering… will you make space to hear Him? 🤔