God’s Faint Path

The Learning Circle begins with two simple but searching questions: What is God saying to me? What am I going to do about it? When we notice a Kairos moment — a word, an event, or an encounter that carries the weight of God’s voice — we are invited to pause and pay attention. The first half of the circle is about observation and reflection. We slow down enough to notice what’s happening inside us and bring it into conversation with trusted companions.

One of the hardest truths to embrace is that we matter to God and have a unique role in His grand design. For years, my “Not Good Enough” posture kept me from imagining I could be useful to God. Over time, I’ve come to believe that a spark of the Divine is in each of us. We are born into unique circumstances—our family, culture, time, and place—and God looks different in each person according to that uniqueness. Our task is to discover and live out that unique expression.

When I was baptized into the Lutheran church, I wasn’t taught the theology of vocation in a way that made it clear I could live out my calling in business. I thought a true calling meant leaving the marketplace for ministry. It took years to realize God needs people in every sphere of life. Pastors spend much of their time with believers, but laypeople carry the witness of Christ into the wider world.

From Genesis to Revelation, Scripture shows us that God works through broken, imperfect people. For 50 years, my inner script of “not good enough” convinced me that I could never truly please God. I didn’t yet see that no one can please Him in their own strength—and that our flaws are not disqualifications, but openings for grace. I came to understand that most of what God is doing in the world happens through the vocations of His people.

This week we look at one of the most powerful movements in our lives,  discovering our unique calling. If you haven’t discerned it yet, don’t worry, God reveals it at just the right time. In the years after my baptism at 28, I felt a strong sense of calling—but to what, I had no idea. The message I often heard was simple: if you’re called, quit your job and go to seminary. There was no real sense of the “priesthood of all believers” in that advice. Somehow, it didn’t fit.

Anxious thoughts rob us of peace. Comparing ourselves to others robs us of joy. We often compare the outer calm of others with our own inner turmoil, unaware that their calm may be just as fragile as ours. When caught in negative thought loops, I drift from silence into striving—striving for security, approval, and worthiness. For many years, I believed I could make God smile through my own effort. But that was a lie—one that turned me into my own savior.

Being and waiting are two things our culture doesn’t value. We grow impatient at a slow drive-thru, and some mortuaries even offer “drive-up” windows to pay respects. Silence is uncomfortable for many because it leaves us alone with our thoughts, and for some, those thoughts are a noisy loop of worry and self-criticism. When I enter prayer and quiet myself, I realize how much noise—internal and external—clamors for my attention. The thousand chattering voices don’t go away on their own.

We humans are remarkable time travelers. Our minds wander easily—rehashing the past or anticipating the future—but we can only encounter God in the present moment. Learning to be present has meant learning to be more connected to my body, because my body can only be here and now. Through contemplation, I’ve practiced letting go of thoughts as they arise, just as I would during my sit. That habit has carried into daily life.

For most of my life, I didn’t understand how to connect with my inner being. I had occasional glimpses of the Spirit—some even before I was baptized—but I saw the Spirit as something separate, perhaps passing through me, not as a permanent presence within. Meditation became the pathway to connection. In the silence, I began to believe that a spark of the divine truly was hidden deep within.

For decades I was so busy doing—proving myself worthy, trying to overcome “not good enough”—that I had little time for silence or deep prayer. Honestly, I didn’t believe God heard or responded to my prayers. The lie that I had to perfect myself was hardwired in me, and every attempt to prove worthiness failed. I was confronted daily with the ways I fell short. I was Mr. Busy Man - my schedule left no room for the prompting of the Spirit.