How to Hear God’s Voice

Discovering God’s Guidance in Silence

How to Hear God’s Voice in Seasons of Silence

If you’ve ever wondered how to hear God’s voice, you’re not alone. It’s one of the most searched questions by Christians across the world: How does God speak to me? How do I know it’s really Him?

These are honest, necessary questions—and if you’re anything like me, you’re still figuring it out.

God speaks in a variety of ways. Through scripture—always the foundation. Through our thoughts and desires (what Dallas Willard refers to as “the inner voice”). Through others, especially those we walk with in close, trusted community. Sometimes through dreams or visions, and even audibly. But lately, I’ve been wrestling with the possibility that we may have overlooked one of the most formative ways He speaks:

Silence.

Or more specifically, story. The long arc of our lives where His presence, His voice, and His faithfulness are often clearest in hindsight.

It reminds me of a framework we’ve explored before: the Stages of the Hero’s Journey. God is not just directing our lives from above—He’s leading us through an intentional journey. And often, just like in the Psalms, the journey includes wilderness, suffering, and longing.

If you’d prefer to explore this question in a more conversational format, this short teaching expands on how God speaks through Scripture, silence, memory, and the unfolding story of our lives.

The Psalms: Wrestling with Silence

The psalmists didn’t shy away from expressing their confusion or desperation:

“Why, Lord, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” —Psalm 10:1
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish?” —Psalm 22:1
“How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” —Psalm 13:1

These aren’t just poetic outbursts—they’re the raw pleas of someone trying to understand God’s silence. And what’s powerful is how these psalms often shift:

“Yet I will trust…”
“I will remember the deeds of the Lord…”
“You have been my help…”

But we have to be careful here—not to interpret these raw moments of silence or anguish apart from the bigger story God is telling.

The meta-narrative of scripture is the lens through which we must interpret all of scripture, especially the parts that are confusing or difficult to understand.

That overarching story?
Creation → Fall → Redemption → Reconciliation.

From Genesis to Revelation, the through-line of the Bible is that God is redeeming and restoring humanity back to Himself through His Son.

When we read scripture—or our lives—outside that context, we’re prone to misinterpret God’s silence as absence, or His justice as cruelty.

But through the lens of this greater redemptive arc, we see that even silence can be a part of the story He’s writing.

It turns out that remembering might be one of the most overlooked ways of hearing God.

The Discipline of Remembering

Throughout Scripture, God’s call to His people is clear: Remember.

• Remember what I’ve done.
• Remember how I led you.
• Remember my faithfulness in the wilderness.

In his book Hearing God, Dallas Willard talks about how we recognize God’s voice by grounding ourselves in the principles and patterns of scripture.

He argues that when a truth appears over and over again in scripture, it’s not just instruction—it’s formation. It’s a signal to pay attention.

And one of the most repeated themes in all of scripture?

The call to remember.

It’s not just encouragement—it’s a command.
Not just a poetic device—it’s a foundational discipline.
And as I’ve been arguing, maybe even a primary way God speaks.

When we make remembrance a habit, we train our ears to hear how God has been speaking all along.

We often look for God’s voice in immediate clarity, but what if He’s been speaking through meaning, through memory, through narrative all along?

When I stop to remember, I start to see it: the painful seasons, the unanswered questions, the delays—they start to take shape. They weren’t meaningless. They were part of the unfolding story.

A God Who Invites Participation

And here’s what I’m coming to believe:

God is not a distant director shouting commands from the sky. He’s a Father who invites participation in the unfolding story.

For years, I thought prayer was mostly about aligning myself with God’s will. And it is. But I’m also learning something deeper:

Prayer doesn’t just align us with God’s will—it shapes it–and ultimately shapes our will to God’s will.

Scripture gives us this pattern again and again:

• Moses intercedes, and God relents.
• Abraham pleads for Sodom, and God listens.
• Joshua asks for the sun to stand still—and it does.
• Hezekiah prays, and God extends his life.
• Even Jesus says, “If You are willing, take this cup…”

This is not a cold, pre-written script. This is dialogue. This is co-creation.

And it’s not the kind of co-creation where God rolls His eyes and lets us tag along out of pity. It’s not: “Fine, come with me, even though you’ll slow everything down.”

No—it’s an invitation of honor.

Like a good father who chooses to build something with his child, even if he could do it faster on his own. He doesn’t invite us in to keep us busy. He invites us because we matter. Because we have worth in His eyes. Because in His grace, He’s chosen to weave our voices and prayers into the fabric of His story.

A Story I Got to Be Part Of

Six years ago, my dad was declared brain-dead after a massive heart attack. Two weeks in a coma. His brain scan showed nothing but grey matter—clinically dead.

But during that time, our family and close community prayed like never before. Not demanding. Just on our knees. Pleading. Asking. Hoping.

Today, my dad is not just alive—he’s thriving.

God heard us. And He responded.

That moment shaped my theology of prayer forever. Because I didn’t just witness a miracle—I got to participate in the story.

The Reality We Don’t Always Want

But here’s the hard part:

If this really is how God speaks—if His voice is often found not in lightning bolts or quick answers, but in long narrative arcs and sacred remembering…

That’s not easy.

Sometimes I wish it weren’t true. I want the audible voice. The clear yes or no. The fast answer.

But what I think I’m learning—slowly, even reluctantly—is that clarity isn’t always the point.

Relationship is the point.

Your story, my story—they’re not isolated events. They’re subplots in His larger redemptive story. And sometimes the next step only becomes clear when we pause to look back.

So if you’re in a season of silence, maybe He’s not withholding anything.

Maybe He’s inviting you into something deeper.

Not just to wait.

But to remember.

To trace His faithfulness. To recognize the patterns. To discover that even in quiet, He’s still speaking.

Maybe He’s asking you to listen differently.

Maybe He’s asking you to co-create.

And that kind of relationship? It might not be easy. But it’s real. And it’s worth it.

If you’re exploring how to better tell your story as a ministry or nonprofit leader, don’t miss our free resource: How to Tell Your Story eBook. It’s packed with practical guidance for discerning, remembering, and sharing the story God is writing through your life and ministry.

Because telling your story isn’t just about communication.

It’s about communion. With Him, and with the people He’s called you to reach.

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