God’s not talking and the silence is weirding me out

You should know, unlike some bloggers, I don’t have a stockpile of blog posts sitting in a computer file waiting for me to hit the publish button. I have writer friends who seem to be able to manage this and I have to admit, I’m a little jealous of them. No last-minute head scratching, wondering what in the world they’re going to write about that day? Yes, please.

But God said no. NO.

Fresh bread, He said. That’s what you’re offering your readers. We’re not baking and stockpiling loaves for the freezer that you can pull out when needed.

 

 

Alrighty, then.

I’m not saying this way is better. Not at all. It’s just the way He wants me to write, at least in this season. I literally went from spending three days chiseling out a post to waking up on blogging days (Wednesdays) not having a clue what I’m going to write about.

 

• It’s maddening

 

• It’s liberating

 

• It’s so stressful
  

 

• It’s an adventure
  

 

• I love it
  

 

• I hate it

 

I look at this blog as a place to connect with my friends— a spot where I can think through what the Lord has been speaking to me and then share it with you.

 

So, what’s the problem?

 

It’s just that, lately? God’s not been talking to me. At least, not about my writing. It’s like someone snipped the telephone wires. “Temporarily disconnected,” as Bill Murray said in the movie, What About Bob?

 

He’s gone quiet on me and the silence is deafening.

 

 

It’s a little disconcerting, being that I’ve never had a problem hearing His voice before.

Uh, Lord? You really think this is a good time to go incommunicado? Because, hello, weekly blog posts, you said. Fresh bread? I’m gonna’ need some ingredients if I’m going to bake this morning, ’cause I got nuthin.’

 

I can almost hear Him chuckling. Pointing His finger at my pantry.

 

 

You’re busting at the seams; you’ve got a lifetime of experience to draw from. You don’t need more ingredients, you just need to use what you’ve got. Bake the bread. Write.

 

For someone who relies on a rhema word when I write, this is unnerving and yet I sense this IS a rhema word for me. I’m thinking about something John Ortberg said in his book, The Me I Want To Be:

You already know more than you need to know.  

 

 

We would rather cognitate on what we do not know than actually do the things we know we ought to do. Share on X

 

Man, Ortberg nailed me on that one. I do love me some cognitating. (Is that a word?)

 

Quit cognitating. Start writing.

Trust me. Trust that the words will come.

You already know more than you need to know.

 

Here’s one thing I do know:

 

Not knowing what I’m going to write about is scary. I already struggle with feeling like a fraud and this loosey-goosey editorial schedule is making it worse. Please say you understand what I’m talking about. Anyone?

I mentioned imposter syndrome in the last post, so I know some of you get it. What if people find out I’m just a sixty-seven-year-old woman with a ton of baggage who is trying to figure out how to travel light? Who uses words to make sense of things?

 

My son tagged me in an Instagram post this morning that helped me see it all in a different light:

 

 

I’m scared…

scared that God might not show up this time. Scared that left to my own wits I’ll have nothing to say. I could (and frequently do) beat myself up for having these doubts, but the truth is, I care. I care about being a good steward of His Word, about representing Him well. I care about you.

 

I worry…

worry that I don’t have any more words left in me; that you’ll figure out what I already suspect: I’m not really a writer. If I was, this wouldn’t be so hard, so I must be a fraud. That’s what I feel. But feeling like a fraud is not from God, it’s from the pit. What it really means is, I’m growing. Growing in my ability to dig deep and flesh out the truths He’s already spoken and then share them with others; growing in my ability to trust Him.

 

You know the funny part about all this? The ironic part? Here I am, getting all in a snit because God is silent and yet I love silence. I can go for days without talking to him. Not that I don’t spend time with Him, it’s just that I’m not always that chatty. He knows me, so I’ve always just figured He was OK with it. So now, the roles are switched. I know Him, so if He decides to be silent, I’m learning to be OK with it. It doesn’t mean He’s not there, or that He doesn’t love me.

 

 

So, yea, all that to say, God’s not talking.

 

Or is He?

 

Silence, as the song says, is golden.