Trusting God In The Silence

I've had more than my fair share of moments when I have felt like God doesn't seem to know I exist, or worse: God knows I exist and has for some reason decided to abandon me to an uncertain future and an almost certain demise. 

There have been seasons of my life when I prayed so fervently for God to simply give me a sign that God at least gives a crap about what I'm going through, and there has been nothing but silence on the other end of those prayers. 

What I've learned (and am still learning, truth be told) is that God rarely responds the way I want.  In fact, I'd be hard-pressed to remember a time when I was longing for a sign from God and whatever came (if it came at all) wasn't at all what I expected.  

God's ways are most assuredly not our ways, which is a hard thing to internalize for most of us.  Understanding this and learning to surrender and trust God no matter what our circumstances might be is one of the hardest things for us to accept.  

There are seasons in our lives when God feels distant, hidden in silence, and our prayers seem to echo back unanswered. In those moments, it is easy to wonder if God has forgotten us. 

Yet the truth of Scripture reminds us otherwise: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). What feels like absence is often a holy invitation to lean deeper into trust.

The singer/songwriter and poet Leonard Cohen captured this paradox of longing and presence with these words:

“My heart sings of your longing for me, and my thoughts climb down to marvel at your mercy. I do not fear as you gather up my days. Your name is the sweetness of time, and you carry me close into the night, speaking consolations, drawing down lights from the sky, saying, See how the night has no terrors for one who remembers the name.”

What a reminder that even in the darkness—when fear threatens to undo us—God gathers our days, carries us close, and whispers consolations. The very moments when we feel most alone are often when God is most tenderly present, holding us in ways we cannot yet see.

The problem is not God’s absence but our expectations. We imagine God must reveal Godself in dramatic ways—miracles, booming voices, unmistakable signs. 

Scripture teaches us something different: to expect God in the quiet: the still, small voice Elijah heard on the mountain (1 Kings 19:11–12), or the promise of Jesus, “I am with you always, to the very end of the age” (Matthew 28:20). Our distorted images of God as harsh, distant, or conditional blind us to the truth of God's radical and unconditional love.

When you feel abandoned, that is precisely when you need to reach out for God’s presence. To cry out, even in doubt, is itself an act of trust. 

The psalmist models this beautifully: “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? … But I trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation” (Psalm 13:1, 5). Faith is not the absence of questions; it is the courage to trust God even when the answers are hidden.

God’s love is not dependent on our feelings. Feelings rise and fall, but love endures. To trust God in the silence is to believe that even when we cannot sense God, God is carrying us “close into the night,” as Cohen wrote, until the morning dawns again.

Prayer
Loving God, when I cannot see You and when silence feels overwhelming, remind me of Your unfailing love. Teach me to trust not in what I feel, but in who You are. Gather up my days, carry me through the night, and let me rest in the assurance that Your name is my peace. Amen.