The first thing I began doing was praying with conviction, and praying often.
When I step into prayer about something I don’t understand, I am learning to lean less on my thoughts and more on my listening. If I already knew the way, I would walk it. But I don’t. So I go to the Lord and confess, I don’t know what to do. I have never stood here before. I have never felt this exact weight. I long for a different place, yet even if I arrived, I would not know how to remain there.
What could I possibly add after admitting that? Nothing.
I choose to listen. I set aside the voice in my head and the words on my tongue, because they will not lead me through. Instead I offer the ears of my heart, as if they might catch what the wind of the Holy Spirit carries.
The silence that follows is not easy.
It’s an “I’m on the edge of my seat” kind of listening.
A morning yearning kind of waiting.
This place has become a place of tuning.
I feel the discomfort, and still I stay. I let myself be small, and I listen.
If nothing comes, I take that as its own kind of answer: be still. Do not rush. Do not search for words or try to think it through.
Wait. Until the first response arrives.
And when it does, it is never the whole map. It is only a beginning. A small step that feels faint, like a whisper I might miss if I were not listening so intently.
Sometimes that step seems like a side path, even a detour, or out of order. Yet later I can see it was a foundation stone, not sand but rock. Then comes more waiting, more listening, until the next clue reveals itself.
This is what is happening to me. In the listening, I’m trusting God. Each step does not end the journey. Each step does not know the next step.
In this way, I’m learning to walk with God.