#findingstillness

Yesterday, I had a conversation with a dear friend about something that’s been weighing on both of us: the feeling that we’re missing God’s message or calling.

It all started when I sent her a meme—classic me, trying to lighten the mood. It said: “When I’m trying to be obedient to God but have no idea what He’s calling me to do.” The clip was from a movie where Jackie Chan is nodding in confusion while Chris Tucker yells, “Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?” We laughed because, honestly, doesn’t that feel relatable?

I joked that the Holy Spirit must look at God sometimes and ask, “Are You sure You picked the right person?” But the conversation quickly deepened. We started talking about how hard it can be to feel certain about what God is saying—or if He’s saying anything at all.

Here’s the thing: I think so many of us are waiting for a moment. A booming voice from the heavens. A burning bush, tables flipped in fury, a veil torn in two. Something big and unmistakable. But what if we’re looking in all the wrong places?

What if God can’t cut through the noise we’ve surrounded ourselves with?

We live in an age of constant stimulation. Big screens, small screens, and everything in between. Ads pop up at every turn. Our downtime is spent scrolling endlessly, keeping up with Facebook friends, or checking notifications. Add in family, work, kids, community obligations, and a culture that glorifies being busy, and it feels like there’s no time to simply be. If your calendar isn’t packed from the moment you wake up to when you collapse into bed, are you even doing enough?

I wonder sometimes why God used shepherds so often in His story. Shepherds were the first to see Jesus in the manger. King David was a shepherd boy before becoming king. Maybe it’s because shepherding is quiet work. Sheep aren’t loud. They graze, they sleep. There’s time to think, to reflect, to listen.

One of my favorite lines from The Alchemist says it best: “If God leads the sheep so well, He will also lead a man.” And how true that is. God speaks in the stillness.

I’ve heard God most clearly in the silence. I remember one vivid moment years ago, driving over the St. Simons Island causeway with the convertible top down. The wind drowned out every other sound, and as the marshes stretched out before me under the sunset, it was like time slowed to a crawl. I was in the middle of a season of uncertainty, praying about a specific person in my life, and in that quiet moment, I heard it.

“Let them go.”

It wasn’t a booming voice. It wasn’t words spoken aloud. But it was unmistakable—like God Himself was sitting beside me. I had spent months praying about this, but it wasn’t until I let the distractions fade into the background that I could hear Him so clearly.

Maybe that’s the real issue: we’ve become so tuned to the noise around us that we’ve fallen out of tune with God.

But here’s what I’ve also started to notice—God doesn’t stop trying to reach us, even in the chaos. What if, while waiting for us to sit still and listen, He’s speaking through the clutter of our lives?

Maybe He’s using our worship music to lead us to prayer. Maybe He’s placing the same Bible verse in our feed, over and over, until we finally pay attention. Maybe He’s working through friends, strangers, even those silly Reels we scroll past, planting little seeds along the way.

At some point, the coincidences stop being coincidences.

The same verse popping up in different places? That’s not an accident. Conversations that sync up with a situation you’re walking through? Not random. A song that brings you to tears and reminds you to pray? That’s not chance.

God is always working to start a conversation with us. To slow us down. To connect. He wants to reveal our calling, show us what we’re missing, and remind us that it’s not just about the destination—it’s about the relationship.

So maybe the next time life feels noisy and overwhelming, instead of waiting for the burning bush or the booming voice, we can start looking for Him in the little things. The patterns. The whispers.

Because God isn’t just found in the big, dramatic moments. He’s in the stillness. The quiet. And even the noise—if we’re willing to tune in and listen.