If you’ve known me for any length of time you’ve probably figured out by now; I’m a talker. Love to talk. I’ve got the gift to gab but with God, lately I’ve been pretty silent. There’s so much to say but no words seem to match the emotions. I try to write them out but even that feels empty. I’m so full of all these thoughts but I’m pretty much done trying to speak to God. If I could say a few things to Him I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be what He would want to hear. They’d be things like:
Why me? Do you trust me with this, really God? Are you testing me, because that’s not very loving. I don’t see you in this, I’ll never see you in this. I need help, no one gets this, no one is here, I want to scream, I want to be selfish, are you punishing me; God?
I get so wrapped up in trying to mumble out the words I think God wants to hear instead of dealing with the words in my heart. The problem with these words in my heart is the bitterness, the weight they carry. It’s too much to deal with on top of everything else. I talk a lot but not to God. But just because I don’t talk to him doesn’t mean he stopped talking to me. I see God speaking to me in all kinds of unique ways. I cringe when people say: God told me this, or God spoke this word to me. Did He really? Because, I may be a “lesser” Christian because I don’t hear His voice but I still see Him. I still listen for His presence because He can speak without actually saying anything.
There was this particular day that was pretty tough. I didn’t have any energy to deal with my anxiety or depression, so it manifested by cleaning and organizing. I found myself rummaging through a very unorganized closet, digging in a very unorganized box. This box made it through every single move since I was eighteen years old. Since then, it’s accumulated a lot of unnecessary stuff I can’t seem to throw away. One thing in particular is a canvas. There was a time in my life where I thought I could have been Picasso, pipe dream. Anyways, this painting was more than just really bad, it meant a lot to me for a lot of years. Everything within me believes that God wanted me to be reminded of those words, in that particular moment. The words consisted of this:
“My dove is hiding behind the rocks, behind an outcrop on the cliff. Let me see your face; let me hear your voice. For your voice is pleasant, and your face is lovely.”
Song of Songs 2:14 NLT
So, I hung it up in my bathroom. I’m reminded that in the times where I want to present a better version of myself to God; He thinks I’m lovely as is. My darkness is lovely. My hope for you is that you’ll know that even when you feel like you can’t talk to God or that He doesn’t hear you, He’s right beside you, talking you through your very next moment. See Him, in you. See His goodness in every small thing. He comes soft and sweet and endearing. He knows your heart, express the rawness and realness of your thoughts it’ll only help you rely on His voice. This season has been so different that what I’ve ever known. Speaking to God has been lifeless and most days I question if He even cares. Then, right in the midst of my anger a ray of hope springs forth from a thought, a conversation, a kind soul, a smile, a hug, a laugh, a song, or like most times: a mess.
Speak, He’s listening. He wants to hear your voice, see your face. Come out of hiding and speak the brave, dark, yet lovely words you’ve been longing to speak. He shows up every single time.