For a long time, I didn’t believe that God speaks to me.
I thought that was something reserved for the “spiritually elite”: pastors, missionaries, elders, the really devout Christians that must have read their Bible at least seven times through.
But not me. Never me.
The truth was that I could probably have listed a handful of times that I had in fact heard from God, but they were so few and far between that I discredited God and chose to dismiss those conversations.
The other truth was that God had been speaking to me so much more than I realized; I simply didn’t have the ears to hear it.
One of the ways Gods speaks to me is with colours. Since I was a kid, I can remember times that I would close my eyes and see all sorts of colours pulsating and swirling around. I thought that this was normal and assumed that everyone could do so until I talked to some of my teammates month 2 of the Race. That was when I first realized that there was more to seeing colours with my eyes closed than what I thought was simply a neat little trick.
A month later, we were on one of those not-so-pleasant travel days that all Racers are familiar with, and I was feeling it. Stomach churning, I was about ready to lash out on my joyful teammates who did not seem to share my discomfort and instead were enthusiastically chatting between reenactments of their favourite musicals. I managed to hold my tongue, and instead began to pray. Eyes closed, I asked God to help me not allow my present feelings dictate how I reacted to the friends around me. As I prayed, colours began to appear, swirling and transforming into different shapes and designs before me. It was like the fourth of July within a kaleidoscope. For the next ten minutes, I enjoyed the show, distracted from all noise, swerves, and bumps alike. By the time we arrived to our destination, I didn’t feel sick at all.
Fast forward six months. I was enjoying worship with my Chilean host church during an evening service when the Lord gave me a word for the congregation through a picture. Nervous, and still not fully confident in my ability to hear God, I began questioning if what I heard was really from Him. I jotted it down and tried to focus on the music, but I simply could not concentrate on anything else. I had this feeling in my Spirit that this was not simply my own thoughts. I began to ask God for scripture that would confirm that what I had written down held Biblical truth, hoping He would lead me to a parable or something. The reference John 3:34 appeared before my eyes. Unfamiliar with the verse, I opened my Bible and read: “For the one whom God has sent speaks the words of God, for God gives the Spirit without limit.” Heart pounding, I was convinced that God wanted me to speak the words He had given me. Still reluctant, I told God that I would do so, but that He was going to have to make the time and space for me to share. Not 30 seconds later, a woman from the congregation walked up to me and asked, “Did God give you a word for yourself, or for the church?”
As I’ve learned to listen for my Father’s voice and to recognize the many different ways that He speaks to me, I’ve realized that I am not an exception. God speaks to me. Not only that, but He does so in a way that makes sense to me. He understands me so well that He knows exactly how to speak straight to my heart.
Our communication is frequent, unique, and intimate.
Do you know your shepherd’s voice? How are you listening?
