Earthquakes and Gentle Whispers

I’ve been living my life as a believer in Jesus Christ since I was 9 years old, which means I’m well into my 16th year as a Christian. During that time I’ve had typical amounts of wrestling with the validity of the decision I made at such a young age. Did I understand more than Jesus loves me? Could I have any idea what I was being “saved” from, even though I had no frame of reference for my sin nature or the magnitude of the grace by which I was redeemed (as if I fully understand these things now)? Over the years I’ve seen evidence of the Lord’s work in me, and I stand confident on the decision I made and the understanding that has developed with time. But I continue to wrestle, and there is one area that has been a wrestling point through the entirety of the journey—hearing the voice of the Lord.

I’ve been blessed with a realist brain, so when the God of the universe desires intimacy with me and invites me into conversation with Him, naturally I should be able to hear Him, right? After all, God spoke creation into being in Genesis 1—with His voice. From there Scripture provides an exhaustive catalog of instances where God spoke to people, and each time they heard Him. Whether he or she listened and obeyed varies, but each person undeniably heard the voice of the Lord. Samuel heard the Lord’s voice so clearly that he mistook it for Eli calling to him from another room, which makes me think the voice of the Lord wasn’t a combination of distorted, supernatural sounds, but rather a normal, audible voice. Like mine.

I know what voices sound like, and I also know that amid these 16 years of Christianity, I’ve never heard the Lord speak to me audibly enough for me to mistake it for a peer’s voice. And herein lies the root of my wrestling—how in 16 years of doing this Christian life thing have I never heard God’s voice? But that’s where my certainty waivers a bit and I start to think, haven’t I though? And it’s in 1 Kings 19 that I find solace. 1 Kings 19 doesn’t tell me specific moments that God spoke to me, and it doesn’t promise that He has or even that He will. What 1 Kings 19 does tell me is what the voice of the Lord sounds like.

We find Elijah, lonely and cowering in fear at the back of a cave on the side of a mountain (a position I’ve been known to take a time or two):

A great and mighty wind was tearing at the mountains and was shattering cliffs before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake there was a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire there was a voice, a soft whisper.

(1 Kings 19:11-12 HCSB)

No wonder I don’t hear God’s voice. I don’t know how to whisper, and I certainly don’t know how to listen for whisperings. Like Elijah, I search anxiously for the voice of the Lord in the earthquakes and mighty winds, and I assume that if God has something important enough to say to me, the wind will knock me over when He speaks. But more often than not, I think God whispers.

God desires intimacy with me, His child, and I think gentle whispers are more prone to lend themselves to deep conversations and guiding than mounds of fire. I have to listen harder for the whispers. And that’s where I fall short. Every once in awhile I’ll strain to listen, but given the option, most of the time I choose music, television, or conversations with people I can see, and I’ll do anything imaginable to drown out the whispering. But drown it out though I may, God faithfully continues to whisper. And my prayer is that each day that voice becomes a little more recognizable and my ears strain a little bit less.