The Silence of God

Last weekend I had the opportunity to spend some time with my sister and nieces at a beautiful cabin in the Colorado mountains. We had a great time laughing, hiking, resting, and playing together. As a bonus, I also got to spend a little time with my sister-in-law, her husband, and my other nieces and nephew. The time with family was refreshing.

Even beyond family, though, there is something about being in the mountains that always feels like coming home to me. Despite many prayers over the years, God has never said “yes” to us moving to Colorado. In many ways, I’m really ok with that – I love our home, our community, and our village of friends. It would be very hard to move away from that. But a big chunk of my heart is in Colorado, and some of my deepest moments of growth have happened in the shadow of a mountain.

That’s why this past weekend, on Sunday morning, I hiked up the mountain behind the cabin to worship and spend some time alone with Jesus. While there, I was again reminded of some important lessons I’ve learned through my experiences with God in the mountains – experiences that have directly shaped the intimacy I have with Jesus. And intimacy with Jesus is not a phrase I use lightly. Through my deepest struggles over the years, especially with depression, that closeness with Jesus has been what has pulled me through. It has been an anchor that has held me to the Truth, even when my heart, mind, and body were overwhelmed with sorrow and struggle.

So I want to share these experiences with you. Perhaps you desire to seek God out, and if so, I pray you’ll bear these things I’ve learned in mind. However, if you have to learn them on your own, I understand that too. The lessons we learn for ourselves are often the hardest, but they stick the strongest. But I will still share my stories here, because I want to bear witness to the things God has taught me.

First let me say, however, that in all the things I’ve learned and heard from God over the years, Scripture has been the truest and most reliable way for me to hear Him speak. Consistent time in His Word has filled me and reminded me of the truth of who Christ is. It’s stretched me and challenged me, given me comfort and peace. It’s been the measuring rod of truth for every emotion and conviction I’ve had. Any time I believe I’ve heard God speak, I’ve measured it against the truth of Scripture because I know that my thoughts are fleeting and my heart is easily swayed. Scripture is an anchor for me.

All that being said, I want to share with you three stories of times I learned very important lessons on the topic of listening to God. I don’t think I’ll include them all in this specific post – that would take too much time. But today I want to get started with a time I learned about the silence of God.

Many years ago, before Josh and I had kids (so maybe 17, 18 years ago?), I was at a bit of a low place in my relationship with God. I don’t remember specifically what was going on, though based on the timing I’m guessing our struggle with infertility was part of it. I mostly remember feeling almost compelled to go and spend time with God in the mountains. In my arrogance, I thought that if I spent some time and money to “go be with God,” that He would be so honored by my efforts that He would show up and speak to me. I was certain that my time with Him would lead to clear direction for my future and lots of warm fuzzies. 😊

So I went to Estes Park, and spent several days hiking, reading, and praying. In many ways I absolutely loved it. It was restful and peaceful. Rocky Mountain National Park is one of my favorite places on the planet, and I loved hiking the trails and being in nature. But the reality was, that despite all the time I had poured into God, I truly felt that He was silent. He hadn’t shown up. He didn’t speak to me. He was there, I suppose, but there was no “aha” moment or deep life-changing word from God. I felt that He had held back from me what I had been seeking.

On my drive back home through Western Kansas, I became increasingly discouraged and angry. And I laid out my hurt before God. I told Him that I didn’t understand why He had been silent. I had put myself out there. I had invested money and time in order to hear Him and spend time with Him, and it felt like He had barely shown up. I told Him that if that’s the kind of God He is, that won’t show up when I put effort into spending time with Him, then I wasn’t sure that He was a God that I wanted a part of. His silence had been painful, it had hurt, and it led me to doubt His love for me.

I fully believe that God can handle it when we rail against Him. He wants us to be honest, and He’s big enough to handle our doubts, our complaints, and even our arrogance. But that doesn’t mean that He won’t put us in our place when the situation requires it. And as I laid out my case against Him, that is exactly what God did.

As I was about an hour away from home, I could see a thunderstorm forming in front of me. At this point, I had pretty much decided that my relationship with God was going to have some big changes. I couldn’t trust Him anymore. I couldn’t give my life to a Being who didn’t show up when I showed up. But as I drove into the thunderstorm, in the final leg of my trip, about as far away from the mountains as I could get, I finally began to hear God speak.

The thunderstorm was vicious. It was loud. There was incredible wind, blinding rain, large hail, and thunder and lightning that pounded the sky. I quickly pulled over – there was no way to drive through this. And as I sat there, a tiny insignificant creature at the mercy of a simple Kansas thunderstorm, I clearly heard God say, “Yes, I am here. I have always been here. But I am mighty. I am powerful. And I will speak when I want to speak, and I will be silent when I want to be silent.”

And then, as the storm moved away, a double rainbow filled the sky, touching the ground on both sides of the interstate. This wasn’t the setting I had imagined God would use to speak to me, but perhaps because it was so out of place is why I remember it so clearly. And in the rainbow I heard the promise from God that He would always be with me. That He loves me with an everlasting love. That despite my arrogance and my desire to set up the perfect way for Him to speak to me, He alone is God. I am not. He may be silent at times, but the promise that He is there is always true. He is worthy of my life, my praise, and my submission to His leading in my life. I can trust His power in my life as much as I can trust His love. No, He didn’t speak in the way I’d hoped. No, He didn’t give me a clear and definite path forward – at least not in the way I’d expected. Instead, He showed up in His time and in His way and reminded me that in the midst of the silence and in the midst of the storm, He is there, and He is mighty beyond my understanding.

And that is what I needed to hear from Him the most.

For Part 2 in Lessons in Listening, click HERE.

I Will Survive

I am a chronic overpacker. When we go anywhere, for any length of time, I bring far more than is needed. Sometimes I think I unpack more clean clothes at the end of a trip than dirty ones. 😊 An example of this is anytime we go hiking – even for a couple miles. I always bring a backpack with a first aid kit, a few snacks, and the kitchen sink. I simply like being prepared for the unknown.

This adorably annoying character trait came in handy a couple of years ago when Josh and I were hiking a trail in Colorado. We’d already attempted the trail earlier in the week with the boys, but it was pretty icy and they were pansies, so we didn’t get very far. 😊 So Josh and I went back, just the two of us, armed with rough walking sticks we’d found on the side of the trail, hiking boots, and my backpack full of unnecessary weight. We got a later start than planned, and it was slow-going because it was still icy. But it was beautiful, we had the trail to ourselves, and the challenge of making it to the summit was irresistible. We made it to the top and spent some time taking pictures and enjoying it. Then we realized that wasn’t really the summit and the trail went a little further, so we kept going until we made it. We took some more pictures, but then realized it was starting to get dark, so we reluctantly headed down. Unfortunately, we failed to realize that the slightly mushy ice we had traversed on the way up was quickly freezing over again until it was incredibly slick – and it’s much harder to walk down an icy trail than up an icy trail. We had also neglected to consider just how fast the sun sets in the mountains, and how dark it can get on a cloudy night.

However, I am an overpacker. And nestled in one of the pockets of my backpack was a tiny flashlight that had been there for years – just waiting for its moment of glory. No, we didn’t need the first aid kid, the extra snacks, the biodegradable toilet paper (actually I may have used that, I don’t remember 😊), the spare socks, chapstick, cold medicine, pocket knife, ace bandage, extra water bottles, or ponchos. But that flashlight became the difference between sliding off the side of the mountain, and making it home safely with a fun memory. We still biffed it multiple times and caused our family to worry a little about where we were, but we made it.

In the same way, when my battle with depression began I knew I had to find a way out. And I had to take stock of my situation and my resources. What did I have that could help me get through this? Who was with me who could carry me if I fell? What long-neglected resource would become something that could get me to safety? What risks was I going to have to take? Who would be hurt the most if I didn’t make it? This assessment was something I had to do often – sometimes depression is a day-by-day, hour-by-hour, or even minute-by-minute decision to survive and take the next step forward.

The first time I realized I was really, truly depressed was in November of 2017. For months I’d struggled with very strong irritability, self-hatred, and harsh criticism toward myself and others. This usually spiked in connection with my monthly cycle, so it seemed like it was all purely hormonal – though clearly there were some heart issues underneath it all. It just kept getting worse and worse, and finally reached the tipping point that November. I’d had a particularly awful week and just felt so frustrated and angry at Josh. I vented about it in my journal, not pulling any punches. Then after a lot of prayer and scripture reading, I ended that journal passage with a decision to “fully and completely love and respect Josh” despite everything I had written above. I had fought against the overwhelming emotions I was having and God helped me see that I needed to choose Josh despite what I was feeling. I knew that was a victory.

The next day we went to life group (our small group at church) and I brought my journal with me. In my mind, the crisis of emotion had already passed. My mind was dwelling on the last things I had written, not the former words of contempt and anger. But Josh was sitting next to me and he saw the hateful words I had written about him that I had so carelessly displayed, and they broke his heart. That night he was cold toward me and he finally told me what he had seen. He was so deeply hurt. He didn’t know that Jesus and I had worked it out – that I had made the decision to love him and choose to see the good in him despite what my critical brain wanted me to believe. I think that is the deepest I have ever hurt him. Later we both talked about the fact that it’s normal to vent, especially in a journal, and it wasn’t necessarily awful that I had done so. But in that moment, I knew that I had done serious damage to his heart. And the sorrow I felt for hurting him was overwhelming. And for the first time ever in my life I felt like the solution was to walk downstairs, find a knife, and cut myself. I do not know why my brain went that direction, but it did. Over the coming days, despite the healing that God did between Josh and myself, I had suicidal thoughts several times. I knew I wouldn’t act on any of them, but it was awful to have those thoughts in my mind.

That was the turning point. The crisis had come and it was time to find a way forward to health. I finally realized I was at a place I had never been before. I knew it was no longer acceptable for me to just keep trying to survive month after month. I needed help to get better. Something was clearly wrong and it wasn’t something I could handle – or at least shouldn’t handle – on my own anymore.

So I prayed. A lot. I started thinking through my options. I had lots of talks with Josh and a couple of good friends about what the next steps should be. I gauged what my resources were. I prayed some more. And because of those conversations and those prayers and those thought processes, I was able to make a plan to move forward. Honestly, this was a continual process over the coming years. There were A LOT of roadblocks on my road to healing. I had to reassess and redirect multiple times; that in itself was depressing. It’s debilitating to have a plan that doesn’t work the way you’d hoped it would. Starting over is one of the hardest things to do, especially when you’ve already poured so much energy into healing. Even now, it’s so discouraging when I have a new symptom or struggle and wonder where in the world it has come from. I feel like total stability is just out of reach — maybe it will always be that way. But I’ve had a lot of practice now with picking myself up and trying again. And though it’s discouraging and I often just want to give up, it’s not impossible and I’m not alone.

Which brings me to this idea of evaluating where you are, where you’re going, and what resources you have. I had to look around me, see who was with me, and what I needed to find in order to get healthy. I went to see a counselor I had seen previously to help me figure out what was going on and what some wise next steps would be. I talked to a friend from church who I’d heard had success treating some of her issues through herbs and oils. I reached out to my counseling professor from college who helped me gain insight into the deeper issues that were going on in my soul that needed to be worked out. I opened up to my prayer group and life group instead of pretending everything was fine. I had long walks with a best friend who listened and asked the right questions – then challenged me to take some big steps. When the herbs and oils didn’t help as much as I’d hoped, I talked to my doctor, then another doctor, and then another – each who helped me take the next step toward physical and mental health. I opened up to several other friends who propped me up, prayed for me, and encouraged me along the way – sometimes once, sometimes consistently – but each interaction was a resource and a blessing to me. I told my extended family about my struggles despite the fact that we don’t normally talk about our feelings that openly. I didn’t hide this from my kids but asked them to pray for me, disclosing to them age-appropriate information about what I was going through. I asked a friend if she would be a mentor to me and our weekly conversations were life-giving. My husband was a rock too – but as you can see, I didn’t expect him to be the only one who held me up. When I looked closely at the resources I had, it was obvious I wasn’t alone. Naturally, there were a few resources I had been freely given, but I intentionally pursued a village and asked them to join me in this fight.

Sidenote: To all of you grammar people who are noticing that almost every sentence in that paragraph started with “I” – don’t worry, I know. You’re just going to have to overlook that. I just like talking about myself. 😊

But above all this, the resource I had with me constantly was none other than Jesus. When I pour back through my journals from the past two years, I can see over and over again how He walked so gently with me. I felt treasured, protected, challenged, and strengthened by Him. The intimacy I gained with Him was incredible because I was so desperate in every way. No, I didn’t do it perfectly and there were still times I felt alone. But I never truly was. He held me up, reasoned with me, and wept with me. This verse very much applies to those years:

“Unless the Lord had given me help, I would soon have dwelt in the silence of death. When I said, ‘My foot is slipping!’ Your love, Oh Lord, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, Your consolation brought joy to my soul.” – Psalm 94:17-19 (NIV)

You probably don’t have the exact resources I had. Your story is different than mine. That being said, my story would be completely different if I hadn’t taken some risks. All of those resources I mentioned were there from the start, but I could have easily ignored them. Consulting with my counselor and doctors was something I could have put off forever. It would have been “easier” to pretend like everything was fine in my life group instead of opening up. Instead of being honest with God and desperately clinging to Him, I could have hated Him for allowing me to suffer in this way (though there were many days that I did question Him—yet He still held me). I could have placed a heavy burden on my husband and my best friend and expected them to be the only ones I trusted with this. I could have chosen not to pursue a mentor, or listen to advice, or ask my family to pray for me. When someone let me down or responded with insensitive advice, I could have gotten discouraged and decided not to open up again. But I was literally fighting for my life, so I embraced every resource I had.

Please do the same. As I said in my last post, it took a village of people and the God of the universe to pull me out of a very dark place. But I had to fight too. So please, look around you. Who is with you? Who can you ask to be with you? What is it going to take for you to survive this? What risks will you have to take and who will take them with you? None of it will be easy. In fact, for me it felt impossible a majority of the time. I was so exhausted simply from trying to do the bare minimum that any extra effort to fight toward healing was an enormous battle. And some days I did not win that battle. Even yesterday I cried in bed in the middle of the day, overwhelmed by the tasks that needed to be done, unsure why such simple things seemed so insurmountable. But even though we may lose the battle some days, we have to move forward, asking our village to join us in the fight.

This village that has been built around me is full of some pretty amazing people. I’m so thankful for those who have walked with me and are walking with me. But the most beautiful part is this: I became a part of their village too. A village never exists for just one person – it is mutually beneficial to all who are part of it. As others became resources for me, I tried to become a resource for them. We lift each other up as we become open and real – allowing others to walk with us.

I know how incredibly hard it is to take the next step forward, especially when the path before you looks so long and dark. It may feel impossible to you. It felt impossible to me. But YOU WILL NOT BE ALONE! I promise you that Jesus wants to walk with you, carrying your burdens each step of the way and lighting the path before you. And if you look closely, you may be surprised at the others who are willing to walk with you as well.