Planning, Picking, Prayer

This past month has been filled with planning, picking, and prayer (I couldn’t help myself with the alliteration—something about being a pastor makes it irresistible). But it’s true. We’ve had several 10+ hour days of planning for the upcoming year—thinking through our events, refining our discipleship methods, and figuring out what we want to tweak moving forward.

The "picking" part has been about selecting our leaders for next year. That involves a lot of conversations—with students, among our pastoral team, and most importantly, with God.

Prayer has played a big role in my time this summer. As always, there are seemingly endless things to pray about, especially with all the decisions we’re making during this season. But beyond that, I’ve found this slower-paced season of ministry to be an invitation—a chance to quiet down and focus more deeply on God.

What I’ve noticed, though, is that when I have the opportunity to spend more time in prayer, I often end up feeling frustrated. I find myself talking to God a lot, but not hearing from Him nearly as much as I’d like.

Or at least, that’s how it feels in the moment.

What I’m continually learning is that God is speaking—constantly—but I’m not always a great listener. Years ago, someone encouraged me to spend more time just listening instead of talking. That was a great step, and it helped a lot. But something still felt like it was missing.

I’m realizing now that what was missing was an awareness of how God often speaks. Not through extraordinary experiences or divine knowledge downloads (though I sometimes wish for those), but through the ordinary, the mundane, the everyday moments of life.

He speaks by gently leading my thoughts down well-worn paths of wisdom He's shaped in me over the years.
He speaks through the quiet presence of a listening friend.
He speaks by stirring compassion and love in places I wasn’t even praying about.
He speaks through the simple joys and rhythms of life.
He answers questions I wasn’t asking and grows me in ways I desperately need—even when I wasn’t focused on them.

I’m learning to see just how constantly God is working, speaking, and moving—and how often I miss it simply because it comes in such ordinary forms. Which, when I think about it, really shouldn’t surprise me. There’s something that feels almost scandalous about God working through the ordinary and mundane. He’s God! Shouldn’t I expect Him to do something big and dramatic and obvious?

But that very expectation is what tripped up so many in Jesus’ day. They couldn’t wrap their minds around the idea that the God of the universe would come down and become a human—a human who lived in near obscurity for 30 years. Eating, drinking, laughing, playing—doing all the normal human stuff.

So why should it surprise me that a God who would do that would also choose to speak to me through the small, simple parts of my own human life? My hope is to keep learning how to listen—to be more attuned to the quiet, ordinary ways He speaks, and I hope to pass that on to the students I minister to as well.