Each of us, at some point, encounters a moment of quiet desperation—a sudden, acute need to reach out into the silence and address God directly. For many like me, this happens more than once.
It is easy for me to recall that time of searching for a sanctuary, finding the physical doors locked, and walking away feeling entirely abandoned. Yet, it is often in that precise moment of turning back toward the world when God appears—not in grand cathedrals or solemn alters, but through something as unassuming as the sudden, sweet scent of honeysuckle drifting on a breeze. It becomes a personal watershed, proving that God is not localized within stone walls, and that his/her listening requires no sacred geometry.
This raises a deeper philosophical question: If we accept that God is all-knowing, what is the purpose of speaking at all? Why offer our messy, finite words to an infinite mind that already comprehends every outcome, every mistake, and every silent grief? Why bother God with troubles that are so often born of our own making?
The answer lies in the fact that tears, prayer, and vocalized anguish are active human necessities. Grief and guilt, when left unspoken, behave like trapped energy. Held entirely within the self, they fester and erode our internal balance. To speak aloud—even to shout into empty air—is to transform an abstract, suffocating internal chaos into concrete reality. By broadcasting our desperation, we begin the subtle shift from passive suffering to active processing.
The voice gives shape to the wound, and shaping the wound is the first step toward healing it.
We do not speak to inform an all-knowing God; we speak to clarify ourselves. God does not demand our silence; he/she creates a safe container for our noise. An infinite listener requires no explanation, no self-justification, and no curated language. God simply offers an absolute, unyielding presence while we dismantle our own delusions.
In the end, God listens not because He needs to learn what troubles us, but because we need to hear ourselves confess. And perhaps the ultimate mercy is that when our internal tempest finally runs out of words, God meets our quieted spirit with a gentle, scented reminder that we were heard all along — the smell of honeysuckle.
Well, the next best thing to having you follow me around all the time to help me through life is to read your daily posts. You have such a gift for expressing things in a way that hits the mark beautifully. ❤️
Thank you dear friend. You made my day!