When God Whispers Without Words

I used to think that if God really wanted me to know something, He’d just say it—loud and clear. A full sentence. Maybe with some thunder. Or a flashing neon sign. Preferably both.

But instead, what I’ve learned is that the Holy Spirit rarely shouts. He doesn’t usually speak in full paragraphs. And sometimes, He doesn’t “speak” at all—not in the way I imagined.

The scriptures talk about a “still, small voice.” And if we really sit with those words, they’re kind of surprising. Still means quiet. Without sound. Subdued. And small? That means tiny. Light. Easy to miss. Nothing about that screams, “Obvious! Look here!”

Which explains a lot.

It explains why I’ve second-guessed those gentle nudges. Why I’ve dismissed the sudden feeling to call someone, or that flicker of peace in the middle of chaos. Why I’ve wondered if I was just making it up—because it didn’t come with words, or a voice, or a perfect “aha” moment.

But I’m learning something that’s both humbling and hopeful: it takes practice to recognize the Holy Spirit. It takes experience. Time. Obedience. Learning the language of heaven, which—spoiler alert—isn’t always made up of actual language.

Sometimes it’s a swelling in your chest. Sometimes it’s a pause before you speak. Sometimes it’s a quiet certainty that doesn’t make sense on paper. Or it’s the sudden need to cry—and you don’t even know why, but you know it’s holy.

And here’s the tender part: God isn’t trying to make it hard. He’s actually trying to teach us to feel. To lean in. To trust the subtle. Because that’s where faith grows—not in the shouting, but in the choosing to listen when it would be easier to ignore.

So if you’re someone who’s wondering, “Was that God? Or just me?”—you’re not alone. I’ve asked that a hundred times. I still ask it.

But maybe the better question is: “What if it was Him? What if I just leaned into that quiet nudge and acted on it, even if I wasn’t sure?”

Because that’s where we start to grow—when we honor the whisper instead of waiting for a billboard.

And when we do, something beautiful happens. That still, small voice? It starts to feel familiar. Not louder. But clearer. And you start to realize—it was never about hearing words. It was about learning to feel Him near. Always near. Even in the quiet. Maybe especially there.