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The Still Small Voice
When we are brought to our knees is often when we find God.
My faith journey has been long and complex, like most people’s by my age. What has been astounding about the past few years is the degree to which God has revealed Himself in radical ways. I don’t just mean inward comfort or resonant sermons—I mean I have had encounters with God.
Several years ago, I went to the park with my then two-year-old, feeling defeated amidst my separation and the unraveling of the life I thought I had. A woman I’d never met approached me and, without knowing anything about my circumstances, asked if she could pray for me.
As she gestured toward hundreds of caterpillars crawling across the grass, she said, “These are going to become butterflies.” She didn’t know how much I needed to hear that.
She prayed with insight that startled me, and when she looked into my eyes and said, “You are free.”
I had always said I didn’t believe in divorce. Making that decision was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I grieved it deeply, and in the midst of that grief, I longed to pray. I felt drawn to the ocean—a place that had marked eras of my life.
This time, I asked my younger brother if he’d go with me to the pier. He rarely agreed to something like that, especially on a weekend. But to my surprise, he said yes.
With my toddler in a stroller and a few flowers in hand, I planned to walk halfway out on the pier, say a quiet prayer, and toss the flowers into the sea. But my brother urged me to keep walking.
I was shocked when, at the end of the pier, I saw a red carpet and a live band playing worship music.
They weren’t normally there. They were traveling musicians who just happened to stop at that pier that night.
One of the young women asked if she could pray for me. I was stunned. This was no coincidence—it was a divine appointment. God knew my heartbreak. He knew I had come to let go.
The woman prayed for me, then said, “God gave me a vision of you soaring over the ocean. And you were smiling. And you were free.”
After she prayed, I dropped the flowers into the sea. I knew God was there. And that everything was going to be okay.
Things didn’t magically get easier in the days that followed. I was a newly single mom struggling financially, trying to self-publish in the margins of my life. I was exhausted. One day, I needed $330 to enroll my son in preschool. Days before the payment was due, I received a deposit from my self-publishing platform for exactly $330 and some change. God was no longer whispering; He was tangibly with me.
A verse echoed in my heart: “I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” I knew I needed spiritual community. I needed to re-engage with the church.
Soon after, I stopped at a coffee shop and saw a teacher from my church, someone who didn’t know me. Later that same day, he sent a group email, and I responded that I was interested in attending a meeting but was unsure if I could make it work as a single mom. He wrote back: “Praise God for your amazing maternal love.”
That one line nudged me back into community. I reached out to a church mentor who invited me to attend with her. I eventually joined the children’s ministry, and being with those precious kids grounded me. It reminded me what it means to live your faith with presence, patience, and joy.
My whole life, I had asked God for signs. Now, in the darkest season I had ever faced, He showed up again and again. Not just whispering, but rejoicing over me with singing.
“The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.” — Zephaniah 3:17
When we are brought to our knees is often when we find God—and when we find peace and joy that truly transcends all human understanding.
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There’s Something More
Have you ever noticed
that gold sparkles in the light
but it’s cold in your hands?
Have you filled
your cup, thinking
it would feel like enough,
but it doesn’t last?
You could have it all,
you could have the whole world
at your feet—every little thing
you think you need,
and still feel empty.
You could have it all,
you could have the best
this life can bring,
living everybody else’s dream
and still feel empty.
When everything
you thought was a win
turns out
to be paper thin,
it tears you apart.
When you don’t
even know
what you’re hoping for
it’s the missing
that tells you
there’s something more.
Empty by Tauren Wells
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Daring to be Different
In my sophomore year of high school, at a time in my life when I was finding my emerging identity as a young adult, I ventured to a grassy hill at the front of the campus to a Bible study a friend had invited me to attend. I awkwardly sat down on the grass amid the crowd. I slipped a brown bag out of my backpack, wondering if eating was allowed.
The teenage leader of the group seemed nervous at first as he launched into a mini-sermon. But he gained confidence as he spoke.
I can’t recall now what he said so many years ago. But I do recall that it got me thinking. Perhaps more than the message itself, what got me thinking were questions like these: why is this high school football player leading a Bible study?
Why is he so kind to everyone? Why does he seem so different?
After the Bible study, I headed to my English class, where I saw a friend. “Where were you?” she demanded. I wasn’t prepared for this conversation.
“I was at this Bible study thing,” I mumbled. I winced in preparation for what was sure to come, and then there it was: she cried, “What? Why?”
I shrugged, hoping she would drop the subject. It wasn’t cool to be a Christian.
However, what began as a Bible study for me led to new friendships and resulted in new-found determination. I would not sell out in the name of teenage acceptance. It dawned on me that true worth is derived not from one’s friends or social standing but from the nature of one’s character and heart.
This domino effect in my own life began with the enthusiastic faith of a group of devout teens who decided to start a high school Bible study.
So, let this story be an encouragement to you.
Standing up for what you believe in is attractive. Daring to be different, and stick to your principles, will draw others to you.
Your commitment to your values will be seen, maybe by someone you didn’t even realize was watching.
Perhaps you will even change someone’s life.
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No Mission Too Small
When I was in my late teens, my visions of the future were extravagant but worldly. I imagined that fame and fortune would lead to fulfillment. Perfection also played a role: I pictured a neatly ordered future that would unfurl with the synchrony of well-aligned dominoes falling one after another.
Beauty, romance, wealth, good health, happiness—those were the ingredients I thought would make a meaningful life.
I was wrong in my assumption that things should and would occur in an ideal way.
I made no room for hardship or heartbreak. I didn’t account for the development of character, or the refining work of pain. I failed to imagine a life that was real, messy, and ultimately deeper than my own expectations.
My priorities look vastly different than they did 20 years ago.
I am confident that the focus of my mission, for now at least, is to be a mother: first and foremost, to be the most engaged, present, encouraging, and loving mother to my own son that I am capable of being.
God has blessed me with the task of raising up a human being: what is more important?
What is more important than to nurture, guide, and teach a child how to navigate this world? How to demonstrate strength of character and moral fortitude? How to practice resilience? How to love?
The responsibility of it is incomprehensible.
As a mother, I have been truly awe-struck in observing the development of kids, and the emergence of abilities and temperament as they grow. The innocence and brilliance of children astounds me all the time.
I never imagined that my God-given mission might appear ordinary by the world’s standards and yet be eternally significant.
Whatever your calling may be, this is true: in God’s eyes, there is no mission too small to be of consequence.
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Hedges.
Recently, I have been thinking a lot about hedges. Being that I am not horticulturally gifted, much less one to take up hedge clippers, thinking about such things is not typical for me!
It all started a couple of weeks ago when I was reading through the book of Isaiah, and I came across a verse about God’s judgment on an oppressive people. It read, “Let me tell you what I will do to My vineyard: I will take away its hedge” (Isaiah 5:5). That verse jumped out, and it stuck in my mind.
A few days later–coincidentally–there were gardeners in my backyard. They had been instructed by someone in my household to remove all the vines that grew on the fence, vines which effectively formed a hedge–a boundary that provided shade and privacy.
Initially, upon hearing what was to become of the hedge, I was a bit incensed: “Everyone will see right into the yard!” I said. “We need to leave it there!”
However, although the top layer of vines was pretty and green and flowering, beneath, there were a whole lot of dead vines.
The plant was becoming an eyesore. More than just being aesthetically unpleasing, however, the plant was not growing as it was meant to grow.
A new hedge needed to be created.
So, the gardeners took a small machete and spent hours hacking through the thick wall of vines, uprooting the plant from the soil.
Eventually, they laid down fresh, loamy soil and carefully staked new, tender green plants that will eventually create a new hedge–one that is healthy.
About a week later, my son and I were playing in the dirt with small shovels, and I noticed that many of the roots of the old plant remained in the soil. They are easy to pull out but form an intricate and hidden underground network that will be difficult to remove entirely because it has spread.
I was left to ponder what all this means, and I turned to the Scriptures.
I had a sense that this metaphor had something to do with God’s intent to make each of us new. God’s beautiful intent to give us abundant life–and allow us to become fully who we were designed to be–may at times require a painful process of refinement.
Our old nature will be stripped away, and God may use suffering to perfect us: “Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit” (John 15:2).
Even after this pruning process takes place, even after the dead vines are completely removed from the garden, roots may remain: within us, there may be habits and a deeply ingrained thought life that takes discipline, time, and effort to remove. The book of Ephesians states:
“You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness” (4:22-24).
All this is to say, that hedges are a good thing, as long as our hedges are healthy.
Some of us may hide behind unhealthy hedges. We may use hedges to keep unhealthy secrets from others or hide addictions. We may shut out opportunities to love others because of hedges.
Healthy hedges do provide necessary protection. However, maybe I was wrong to think that a hedge so thick and impenetrable that no neighbor could possibly see through it is necessary.
Maybe a hedge that allows for some degree of transparency, accountability, and the opportunity for connection is what a healthy hedge looks like.
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The Still Small Voice 