When Hearing God Feels Harder Than I Think It Should

Can we be honest?

In a day and age like today, knowing God’s voice—hearing from the Lord, discerning the direction He’s leading—can feel harder than it’s supposed to.

Not because God has stopped speaking.
But because we’re often listening for a voice—and a tone—He isn’t actually using.

We expect clarity to arrive loudly.
We assume direction will feel unmistakable.
We wait for a moment that cuts through everything else with certainty and confidence.

And when that moment doesn’t come, we start to wonder if we’re missing something—or if God has gone quiet.

But Scripture rarely portrays God’s guidance as dramatic or overwhelming.

More often, His direction comes through attentiveness rather than volume.
Through faithfulness rather than flashes of insight.
Through obedience in small steps rather than certainty about the entire path.

We want a clear voice about the future.
God often speaks about the next step.

“God, show me where I’m supposed to go,” is sometimes a veiled way of saying,
“Confirm for me that following You won’t hurt or get complicated.”

We want confirmation that removes risk.
God tends to give just enough light to move forward— but not enough to control the outcome.

“God, just show me what You want,” can quietly mean, “I want to obey—as long as I can manage the consequences.”

And that tension can be deeply frustrating, especially in a culture conditioned to expect instant clarity, constant affirmation, and a façade of unshakable confidence.

Sometimes the difficulty in hearing God isn’t that He isn’t speaking.
It’s that we’re listening for something spectacular
when He’s offering something faithful.

Scripture gives language to this kind of listening posture.

In 1 Kings 19, Elijah is exhausted, overwhelmed, and desperate for direction. God tells him to stand on the mountain—and then comes the wind, the earthquake, and the fire.

But the text is clear: the Lord was not in any of them.

Only after the noise passes does God come—in a gentle whisper.

Not forceful.
Not dramatic.
Not attention-grabbing.

But close enough to require attentiveness.

God wasn’t absent in Elijah’s moment.
He was simply quieter than expected.

And that seems to be the pattern.

God doesn’t usually shout directions from a distance.
He guides us as we walk—close, personal, and present.

Which means discernment isn’t about decoding a signal.
It’s about cultivating proximity.

Jesus says it simply:
“My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me.” (John 10:27)

The more we walk attentively, the more familiar His voice becomes.
Not because it gets louder— but because we learn what it sounds like.

So if hearing God feels difficult right now, maybe the question isn’t,
“Why won’t God speak?”

Maybe it’s this:

Am I listening for the way He actually speaks—or the way I wish He would?

And maybe faithfulness today—ordinary, quiet, obedient faithfulness— is exactly where clarity begins to form.