Silence from God is not something we often talk about. It doesn’t make for the most encouraging Sunday school lesson or a viral social media quote. But it is real. And for me, it has been one of the most refining parts of my faith.
The First Time I Noticed the Quiet
I remember a season in my life when everything seemed to stall. Business slowed down, my prayer life felt hollow, and I couldn’t seem to hear from God in any of the ways I was used to. I kept showing up—reading, praying, serving—but internally I felt like I was wandering through a fog. I questioned myself. I questioned whether I had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Mostly, I questioned where God was in the silence.
There have been seasons where prayer felt like leaving voicemails that were never returned. Where Scripture felt flat. Where worship felt more like remembering than rejoicing. It’s in those stretches of spiritual dryness that I learned something I couldn’t have known otherwise: God’s silence is not His absence.
What Silence Taught Me About God
In the quiet, I discovered what I actually believe. Without the constant affirmation of spiritual feelings or obvious answers, my faith had to grow roots. I had to decide if God was still good even when I didn’t feel close to Him. I had to believe He was listening even when I heard nothing back.
The Psalms gave me words I didn’t know I was allowed to pray. Psalm 13 begins, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” It’s a raw, vulnerable cry that doesn’t end with a perfect bow. It starts in silence but ends in trust. That tension—between feeling forsaken and choosing faith anyway—is the soil where a deeper kind of relationship with God can grow.
When Silence Feels Like Rejection
It’s tempting to interpret silence as disapproval. In business or leadership, when someone doesn’t respond, we often assume they’re uninterested. When we bring that same expectation into our spiritual life, silence can feel like rejection. But God doesn’t ghost us. He isn’t playing games. His silence, though painful, is purposeful.
I think of Elijah in 1 Kings 19, waiting for God to speak through wind or earthquake or fire. But instead, it was the still small voice that came. And sometimes that voice is so still, so small, that the only way to hear it is to stop striving and simply wait.
There’s a strange mercy in this kind of silence. It strips away performance. It invites honesty. It confronts our assumptions. And in the end, it leaves room for a more grounded, resilient relationship with God.
Jesus Knows the Silence, Too
Even Jesus experienced the quiet. In the Garden of Gethsemane, He cried out in anguish, asking if the cup could pass from Him. On the cross, He shouted, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” These aren’t throwaway lines. They show us that silence is not foreign to God. He entered into it fully.
If the Son of God experienced silence, then it must be a part of the journey. It’s not failure. It’s formation.
An Opportunity That Wasn’t
Years ago, I had my sights set on a job opportunity that seemed tailor-made for me. It had the right title, the right salary, and the kind of influence I thought would launch my career to the next level. I prayed fervently about it. I prepared. I networked. I even envisioned what life would look like once I got it. But it didn’t happen. The door closed, and I heard nothing from God about why.
At the time, it felt like rejection. Like a silent no. And I wrestled with that. But months later, a completely different opportunity came my way—one I never saw coming. It was more aligned with my gifts, more in step with the kind of impact I actually wanted to make. Looking back, I can see how God was protecting me from a path that looked good on paper but wasn’t His best.
That season taught me to trust God, no matter what. To remember that He loves us and works all things together for good. That what we may perceive as the right way forward may not be. Silence, in that case, was not indifference. It was redirection.
How to Listen When God Feels Silent
If you’re in a season like that, let me encourage you: silence is not rejection. It might be preparation. It might be an invitation to go deeper, to listen differently, to let your roots grow down into something more solid than feelings.
Here are a few practices that helped me:
- Show up anyway: Keep praying. Keep reading. Keep worshipping. Faithfulness isn’t measured by how much we feel, but by our willingness to stay close.
- Journal your questions: Sometimes silence invites us to articulate what we’re really wrestling with. Writing it out helped me untangle my fears and longings.
- Lean on others: Community is vital. There were times I couldn’t hear God clearly, but a word from a friend or a line from a sermon carried me through.
- Watch for small signals: A line in Scripture, a moment of peace, a phrase in a conversation—these can be the gentle nudges of God’s presence.
- Reframe the silence: Instead of assuming God has left, ask what He might be doing in the quiet. Is He teaching patience? Building trust? Making space for something deeper?
A Final Word of Hope
Spiritual dryness isn’t the end of the story. In fact, it might be the beginning of a more mature faith. One that doesn’t rely on emotional highs or constant clarity. One that holds on when nothing makes sense. One that mirrors the kind of resilient trust we see in saints and psalmists alike.
And here’s something that gives me lasting peace: we are playing the long game of eternity. God is shaping us not just for this season, but for forever. The silence we endure today may be preparing us for something we can’t yet imagine, something eternal in weight and glory. Our temporary confusion or delay is never wasted—it’s part of a longer narrative written by the Author who sees the whole story.
God hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s still speaking. Maybe not in the way you expected. Maybe not in the timeline you wanted. But He is faithful.
So keep listening anyway. Keep walking. And know that you’re not alone.
There is purpose in the silence. And in time, there will be a voice again—gentle, faithful, and full of love.