Once I taught a year-long Bible study on getting unstuck, so it is embarrassing to admit that I have been stuck in one area of my life: hearing God’s voice and experiencing His presence. Through all the heartbreak of my son dying, Teckla’s breast cancer, my cancer, and then Teckla’s dementia, I have not heard God say anything but, “Trust me.” For two years, I kept a journal titled, What God is Saying to Mark. Each day I meditated on Scripture, I wrote my name followed by a comma, and then scribbled whatever I thought God might be saying. Before coming to Kansas, I read through all my journals. After reading my record of God speaking to me, I tossed the journal in the fireplace, not in anger or frustration, simply because I could easily remember that I should trust God.
I have been stuck yearning to experience God’s presence more directly. By faith and as a discipline I proclaim that God is always with me and his promise to never leave us or forsake us is true. However, in all my heartbreak and loss, I find a God who is silent and invisible no different from a God who is absent. I have been comforted by my faith God is with me but not comforted from God himself. I can, by faith, testify that through all the trauma and grief, God is with me, but I have had no direct experience of His presence.
I have felt stuck partly because so many testify that God was near them and strengthened them through the difficult times. On one level, nothing we possess comes from us, so if we simply endure, we have received grace and strength from God. And God is omnipresent, so He is always with us. But people usually mean they experienced God’s presence and felt His strength through trial. They also testify to how God used the trials to help them grow closer to God. Perhaps steadfastness in the face of heartbreak is evidence of growth, but I do not feel more spiritual or any closer to God. I cannot testify that these trials have resulted in spiritual growth.
Another reason I have felt stuck is that so many speak of having conversations with God. Despite meditation on God’s Word, active listening, silence, and solitude, I have not had conversations with God. During all the years when Peter was in and out of ICU’s, often near death, ravaged by addiction and diabetes, I longed to have a conversation with Jesus. As I watch dementia steal away Teckla’s memories and ability to communicate, I would love to have a conversation with God. I am left wondering if there is something wrong with my heart since I do not have those give-and-take conversations with God.
If God were my pastor, here is what I think He might say
Mark, you are right: I have been and always will be with you. But the noise of your pain and grief makes it hard for you to hear me, so I have surrounded you with believers whose love and help could make my presence real to you. When you needed me, I was there through Tom, Carl, Mark, Phil, Steve, Andrew, and Rick. I was with you and Teckla through Rosalie, Amy, Erin, Petra, Christina, Heather, Judy, and Jessica. When your heart broke for Ari, mine did too so I have wrapped him in the love of many—Carol and Ross and all your church family at the Presbyterian and the Nazarene church in Oregon. I opened the hearts of Dylan and Vanessa to adopt Ari and even moved the heart of the judge to finalize the adoption. I have made my presence real to you through the flesh and blood of my Son’s body.
Mark, you hear my voice more and better than you think. Although many may talk about conversations with me, I am God. Conversation with me is not the same as talking to a friend. I choose the topics. I also know that direct communication with you would mess you up. The more direct I am with you, the more accountable you are. What you say is my silence is often my mercy. And I know you perfectly, so I know when direct communication would blow up your life or make you unable to move or live without a clear word from me. I also know that an answer to one of your questions would only bring a hundred more. Often, I just need you to be still and trust me. By the way, I told you this.
Mark, what I desire from you is more than obedience to commands. I am forming the character of my Son in you. I am more interested in you learning and walking in my ways than you getting information from me. When you feel my nudge, or a holy “ought” in your heart, I am inviting you to walk with me—not just work for me. I know this is not the conversation that answers your swarm of questions, but it is all you need to enjoy me.
Yes, Mark, I am invisible, so you must walk by faith. But my Holy Spirit is in you and the Church is my Body—they will bless you and slap you whenever you need my touch. But be honest, you see me in many other ways. You saw me in Ari’s big smile when you told him his adoption was final. You heard my joy in chatter of the sparrows after the snow-storm. You saw my glory in the sun shining through the ice-covered branches. Yesterday, you saw my beauty in the bluebirds on the snow and the red-tailed hawks soaring in the blue Kansas sky. I could go on all day.
Mark, you have probably noticed that you feel my presence best and hear my voice most clearly when you are praying for or speaking to others. Even though you think this unfair, this too is my way. I want to flow through you, not to you. Your healing comes as you pray for the healing of others. You hear my voice best when I can use your voice to bless and encourage others.
Mark, don’t try to measure your growth through all these trials. Yes, I know you want to have “the good testimony” about all I have done for you through these hard times, but you will only see your growth clearly when we see each other face-to-face. And no, I am not telling you when that will be.
Mark, one last thing: I love you and we will talk soon.
