Personal Stories

The vessel matters

One of my wife and my favorite things to eat on a cold, winter day is a Korean stew called gamja-tang. Gamja-tang is a spicy potato and pork neck-bone stew cooked and served in a hot stone bowl. The pork neck-meat is tender and succulent, the potato is soft and creamy, and the broth is spicy, rich, and full of umami.

Ever since we first got married, one of our weekend rituals, especially during the colder months, has been to go to the Korean market for groceries, and to get gamja-tang and sushi for lunch. Over the years, the markets we go to have changed, and, as our life together has gotten more full, the frequency we go on these dates has become more sparse, but even after fifteen years, groceries and gamja-tang remains one of our favorite ways to get away and spend time together.

Most often, we prefer to sit down and eat together in the little food court of the grocery store. However, there have been occasions when, for one reason or another, we took our food to go. But whenever we have gotten takeout, the soup never tastes the same and we cannot figure out why.

The gamja-tang we take home looks exactly the same as the gamja-tang we eat in the restaurant. It has the same ingredients and the quantities are the same. The taste, however, is different. It’s less rich, less flavorsome, and lacks that unami deliciousness it has when we eat it on-site. The best we can figure, the bowl the stew is served in is what makes the difference between the eat-in and the takeout versions.

When gamja-tang is cooked, it’s cooked directly over the fire in a stone bowl. This bowl is then placed on a small, stone platter and served to customers in the same vessel it was cooked in. When gamja-tang is ordered to-go, however, the stew is transferred out of the bowl it was cooked in and into a plastic takeout container. Since the only real difference between eating gamja-tang in the food court and eating it at home is the container it is served in, we have to assume that this is the cause for the noticeable difference in flavor.

In my many years spent as a coffee drinker, barista, and espresso machine repair technician, I have observed this same phenomenon with coffee. When coffee is served in a ceramic cup, it tastes different than when it is served in a glass, paper, or plastic cup. I don’t know why, but it just does. Apparently, the vessel matters.

The same principle seems to apply to us. As much as we don’t want it to be the case, and as unfair as it may seem, how we present ourselves, how we dress, groom, and carry ourselves, plays a large role in how we are perceived and received by the world. This is especially true when we are trying to carry a message to others.

We all want to be loved and accepted as we are and for who we are, but there is only one who has ever truly loved us unconditionally in this way. That one is God, the God who knew us before he formed us in the womb (Jeremiah 1:5), the God to whom nothing is hidden (Hebrews 4:13), and the God to whom we will return to answer for our lives in death (Romans 14:10-12). This same God who knows us better than we know ourselves (Psalm 139:1-4) also loves us beyond our comprehension or deserving (Romans 5:6-8).

God loves us for who we are, but everyone else has conditions and expectations. For this reason, how we present ourselves matters. The container matters. Our outward appearance doesn’t define us or make us any more or less loved by God, for God’s love is perfect, but whether we like it or not, it does affect how we are perceived and received by the world. Much like Korean stew or espresso, changing the container changes perception. So if we want to be taken seriously, if we want our message to be heard, we have to look like we are serious and deserve to be listened to.

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Praying for courage

I’ve been a public speaker on and off in various venues for the past twenty seven or so years. Most of my talks have revolved around recovery from drug and alcohol addiction, and the relationship with God that made my recovery possible. It’s a subject with which I have intimate knowledge and about which I am extremely passionate. And yet, I still get nervous before I speak.

I have spoken at countless venues in front of a variety of audiences, and it has always worked out. With the exception of one or two talks many years ago when my anxiety got the best of me, things have always gone well. Even in those rare one or two rare cases, I was able to pivot and pull it off.

Time and time again, my experience has proven that I have nothing to fear, I’m not an imposter, and things are going to be fine. Most importantly, however, my experience has proven that God will not abandon me, that he loves me, provides for me, and protects me. He has never let me down. And yet, I still get nervous before I speak.

I often wonder what it would be like to have perfect faith. That is, what would it be like to trust God implicitly, always, to fear nothing, and to never worry? While I do believe that this state of perfect faith is possible, if only because I believe that, for God all things are possible, I have a long way to go before I achieve it.

I have had brief moments of perfect faith. But like most people, I’m flawed and broken, impatient and untrusting, and I try to control things that are either out of my control or that would be better left to God. Precisely because of this brokenness, when I get nervous before I speak, and even when I don’t, I find a quiet space to pray. My fear is my own, but my courage comes from God.

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

In stillness

“I invite you to sit still, sit straight, fold your hands and bow. Repeat after me:
Be still, and know that I am God (Psalm 46:10 NIV).
Be still, and know that I am.
Be still, and know.
Be still.
Be.” 

Followed by several minutes of silence, this simple, but beautifully powerful prayer is how Dr. James Finley closes out each podcast episode of Turning to the Mystics. In addition to leading theTurning to the Mystics podcast with co-host Kristen Oats, Dr. Finley is an author, clinical psychologist, retreat leader, public speaker, and former student of the late, modern mystic Thomas Merton. In each episode, drawing from his vast knowledge of and experience with the material, Dr. Finley gives listeners modern, practical perspective on the writings and teachings of various figureheads in the Christian mystical tradition. 

A now devout listener of the Turning to the Mystics podcast, which came into my life at exactly the right time (funny how God seems to always work that way), this prayer was on my mind this morning as I did my morning meditation. Being still has always been difficult for me, especially in the sense that God means it in this particular Psalm. I’m a worrier, a planner, and a doer. Sitting in silence for an extended period of time, being still and allowing God to be God, goes against every instinct I have. 

This resistance to stillness has come at a cost. Several years ago, I essentially worried, planned, and worked my way into a series of anxiety attacks. I had reached my limit, the jumping off place, where my best best ideas and my best thinking were no longer working. I was working two jobs, one of which was my own business, training jiu-jitsu as much as I could, and trying to navigate family life to the best of my ability, all while neglecting my physical, mental, and spiritual health. 

As covid swept through the world and things began to shut down, I crashed. Life came to a grinding halt and I, who had been running full speed for longer than I can remember, broke down. At the time, I had no idea what was happening, but it felt like my life, and my sanity, was ending. I couldn’t sit still, let alone be still, and I had no where to go. Forced to be with myself, undistracted by the hectic pace I to which I had grown accustomed, I crumbled under the weight of my own unresolved issues. 

Like so many times before, in this moment of desperation, I said a prayer. At the time, I didn’t know it was a prayer. I prayed on my knees every day upon awakening and before going to sleep, but this was not like that. This was my soul crying out for help. From the deepest part of my being, I admitted that what I was doing wasn’t working, that who I had become was not who I was intended to be, and that I couldn’t go on anymore like this. 

I’d like to say that I changed immediately and all was well from that moment on, but the truth is that it has been a long, difficult road from there to here. Along the way, I began working with a therapist, I left my job of twelve years and my career of almost twenty, I refocused my attention on my family and my health, and, most importantly, I was led back to my spiritual path in a deeper, more meaningful way than I previously thought possible. God is now at the center at my life where he belongs and it is easy for me to see where and how things went so wrong when, in spite of my stated beliefs and habitual prayers, my life did not reflect this simple truth. 

That brings us back to stillness. As I sat this morning to read, pray, and meditate, it occurred to me that what was once the most difficult thing in the world for me to do is now the thing that feels the most natural, the most necessary, and the most fulfilling. That, in spite of my resistance, obstinance, and even defiance, I can, and do, sit down every morning to simply be with God is nothing less than a miracle. 

In stillness, I find the peace, rest, and connection that no amount of running, chasing, or hustling was ever going to bring me. In stillness, I learn that life goes on around and without me, and that I do not have to involve myself with or react to every little thing that crosses my mind or my path. In stillness, there is freedom from boredom, worry, and desire. In stillness, I surrender to the love that sustains me. In stillness, I am allowed, or rather commanded, to merely be, to trust and know that God is God.

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Grappling with a ghost

In December of 2020, Jerry Seinfeld did an interview on the Tim Ferriss Show where, among other things, he talked about helping his daughter develop a writing habit. One recommendation he made to her was to set a time limit on her writing. “Just do an hour,” he told her, “Nobody writes all day. Shakespeare can’t write all day. It’s torture… You have to have an end-time to your writing session. If you’re going to sit down at a desk with a problem and do nothing else, you’ve got to get a reward for that. And the reward is, the alarm goes off, and you’re done. You get up and walk away and go have some cookies and milk. You’re done.”

As someone who is often plagued with all-or-nothing thinking, this really hit home for me. It’s important, when building a habit, to start small. Ask yourself what amount of time and effort each day is both sustainable and productive. It has to be both if you are going to stick with your practice, and that is really what building a habit is. It’s a practice. Your practice has to be sustainable because otherwise you will quit when it gets too difficult or inconvenient, but it also has to be productive because, if you don’t see noticeable results, or at least progress, you are also likely to quit. 

But the thing that really struck me about what Mr. Seinfeld said was that the reward for writing is to be finished with it. That, for him, the reward is not in the writing process itself. Rather, the reward is that it’s over, that he gets to stop, to get up, and to move on to something else. I can see the truth of this in my own writing practice. Like many writers have said before me, “I don’t like to write. I like having written.”

Writing, especially when it’s personal, is difficult. The best way for me to describe it is that it feels like I am grappling with some hidden, mysterious force inside me. I am simultaneously attempting to submit it while also submitting to it. Much like my jiu-jitsu practice, writing is not something I dreamt of doing or even necessarily desired to do before I started. It’s something I felt and feel compelled to do. It’s like chasing a ghost that is also chasing me. 

Also, like my jiu-jitsu practice, writing is often painful. It’s a struggle. It’s a fickle mistress. Some days, it leaves me feeling accomplished, inspired, and fulfilled, but other days, it leaves me feeling hurt, frustrated, and disappointed. In the long run, however, I am always glad to have done it. I’m glad to have shown up to practice, to have put in the effort, and to have faced myself in the process. And so, for better or worse, day in and day out, I will continue to grapple. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Invest in spiritual tools

When I was a teenager, my father told me something like, “Invest in quality tools. If you buy cheap tools, they will break. Then, you’ll be buying them twice, the first time when you buy the cheap tools and the second time when you buy the expensive tools to replace the broken cheap tools.” Needless to say, I didn’t listen. For as long as I can remember, defiance against authority has plagued my decision making, even when it means self-sabotage. 

Many years later, I was in the middle of a project for work in the city and I realized that I didn’t have a flat-head screwdriver. So I made a quick run to the store. But there are not many hardware or tool stores in the city, so I stopped at the closest place I could find, which happened to be some sort of dollar store. 

Hesitant but in a hurry, I grabbed a screwdriver and checked out with the cashier. All the while, I thought to myself, “This thing is cheap, but it’s a screwdriver. What could go wrong? It’s not the best screwdriver, but it will get the job done. How could they mess up a screwdriver?” I wasn’t convinced, but I was trying to keep my spirits up. 

I made my way back to the job-site and put the screwdriver in the screw-head. As I attempted to turn the screw, the entire tip of the screwdriver broke off in the slot. I immediately thought back to my father’s warning about buying cheap tools and my head fell in shame and frustration. 

As much as I wanted to be angry at the manufacturer, the store I bought it from, or even the screwdriver itself, I knew that this was my fault and I couldn’t blame anyone else. After all, the signs were there – my father had warned me, I knew it was a dollar store, and my spidey-sense was tingling, even if I tried to shut it up – I just chose to ignore them.

More important than the dollar and some change that I spent on a screwdriver that couldn’t drive screws, I had just wasted an hour of my life and the job still wasn’t done. So I found a hardware store, bought a decent screwdriver, and went back to the job-site to finish what I’d started. It’s been several years since this happened, but both the lesson and the image of that broken screwdriver are burned into my memory.

I recently recounted this story to a friend when we were talking about how fortunate we are to have a set of spiritual tools with which to navigate our lives and through which to solve the problems we face. This wasn’t always the case and I’m beyond grateful that, through God’s grace, I have been given a new lease on life. I spent many years trying to manage with a set of cheap, broken, or non-existent tools. 

It wasn’t until I hit a spiritual, emotional, and psychological bottom that I was able to admit that what I was doing wasn’t working – that I was using a broken screwdriver – and I had no idea where to go or who to ask for help. But “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit (Psalm 34:18 NIV)” and, through the kindness of people in my life who loved me, as well as the help countless generous strangers, God heard my cries and delivered me out of my suffering. 

It’s been many years since I made the decision to turn my will and life over to the care of God and more recently Jesus Christ, but I now have an entirely different outlook on life and an entirely new set of tools with which to work. Of course, I still make poor decisions rather frequently, whether out of obstinance, impatience, or ignorance, but I now know that in God’s word and in his grace, there is an infinite store of wisdom, love, and peace at my disposal if only I am willing to trust him and not settle for cheap tools that don’t work anyway. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

My wife hit me with an egg

While I was making pancakes for my daughter, my wife hit me with an egg. Well, that’s not exactly how it happened. My wife and I were both in the kitchen this morning, rushing around, getting our daughter ready for school, my wife ready for work, and myself ready to go visit my mom in the hospital. I was making pancake batter for my daughter’s breakfast. She likes the pumpkin pancake mix from Trader Joe’s. Today, I mashed up an over-ripe banana in it just to mix things up and so I didn’t have to throw it away, but I digress. 

As I gathered the ingredients for the pancake batter, I saw that my wife was getting something out of the refrigerator. I asked her to grab me an egg because the pancake recipe called for one. She got one out of the egg bin, reached over to hand it to me, and just as she did, I turned toward her, the egg and my elbow meeting at just the right time and angle for the egg to go crashing to the floor. 

For about thirty seconds, we both blamed each other for the mess and then it turned to joking. As my wife cleaned up the egg on the floor, which I think I thanked her for doing but will thank her for later just to be sure, I mixed the pancake batter and proceeded to make my daughter’s breakfast. In spite of the whirlwind of chaos, my daughter got to school on time, my wife made it to the office, and I drove out to the other side of the beltway to meet up with my brother who was acting as my mom’s caretaker for the day, and to see my mom. 

As I sat in a local coffee shop writing, reading, and waiting for the message that my mom was out of surgery, my wife called to ask if I needed any help getting our daughter home from school later. We talked over our plans for the day and both agreed that, if the other needed anything, we would be there to help, eggs in hand. We both laughed at the beautiful chaos that is our life. 

Some days things feel like they are going perfectly. Everything runs smoothly, we are on time, and it feels like nothing can stand in our way. The wind is at our backs, all the traffic lights are green, and the life just seems to fall into place. But other days, in spite of our best intentions and preparation, nothing seems to go right. We feel hurried, clumsy, and like nothing we do is working out. We oversleep, argue, we hit all of the red lights, and we drop the eggs. 

What I try to keep in mind is that God is ultimately in charge of all of this. Of course, we play our part. We have free will and God doesn’t make us do anything we don’t want to do. On the other hand, nothing happens in this world outside of God’s will, either his perfect will or his permissive will. Whether life seems to be going well or poorly, it is all being divinely orchestrated by a God who loves us. He is writing a divine love story for us, even if we don’t understand it from moment-to-moment or day-to-day. 

We don’t always know the plan. We can’t always see the bigger picture. We are asked to trust, to have faith, and to walk forward into the dark unknown on a promise, a promise that God loves us and will not fail us. In faith, God allows us to walk across the stormy waters toward him, but even when our faith falters, when the winds and the waves frighten us and we begin to feel like we are drowning, if we call out to him, he will reach out his hand to pull us up out of the depths (Matthew 14:22-33). 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

He asks us to trust him

My mom is scheduled to have voluntary surgery on her neck tomorrow. She has one or more herniated discs that have been causing her pain for some time. The problem is that the discs are pressing up against her spinal cord. This makes her two options of either getting the surgery or not getting the surgery both risky. 

On one hand, even with our modern standards and practices, surgeries are inherently dangerous, especially around the spine. There is a risk that the surgery may not help her, or that it could make things worse. Additionally, some other unforeseen issue like an infection, for example, may arise as a result of the procedure. We simply can’t know. 

On the other hand, if she does nothing, the problem remains. She will have to live with the pain that has been bothering her for some time. Additionally, she has been warned by multiple doctors that, because her discs are pressing against her spinal cord, if left untreated, an accident could result in her being paralyzed from the neck down. This threat of paralysis is ultimately what motivated her to get the surgery. 

But I’m worried. I’m worried because I cannot predict the future and I don’t know what is going to happen. I’m worried because the whole thing is out of my control. While I know that this worry doesn’t help and it won’t change the outcome of the surgery, fear still haunts me. And yet, as I write this, I’m reminded that all God really asks from us is that we trust him. 

Since the beginning of time, God has been asking this one simple thing of his people, but, in spite of the fact that he is always faithful and always keeps his promises, we still hesitate. From Adam and Eve, Abraham, Noah, Moses, and the people of Israel, to David, the prophets, Mary, Joseph, the apostles, and Jesus himself, God asks us to trust him. 

He promises that he loves us, that he is always truthful, always faithful, always just, and that he will never lead us astray. He proves this in his written word in the Bible, in the living word of Jesus Christ, and in our own lives day in and day out. But like Adam and Eve in the Garden, we so often don’t believe him, like Moses at Mount Horeb, we are reluctant to answer his call, and like Thomas after the resurrection of Jesus, we doubt him and demand proof that he is who he says he is.

And yet, in spite of our prideful mistrust and disbelief, the Lord remains steadfast. He provides what we need, even when it is not what we think we want. He is faithful even when we are not and he loves us even when that love is not reciprocated. So, am I worried about my mother’s surgery? Yes. I am. Do I have reason to be? Well, I guess that depends which part of me you are asking. 

The selfish, broken, and sinful part of me worries because, like Adam and Eve, I have eaten the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, and I want to be like God, knowing what God knows, seeing what he sees, and determining the outcome of all things. But the faithful, trusting, and humble side of me knows that my Heavenly Father is always good, that he knows what is best, and that he has a plan that is beyond my understanding. And so I remain to pray. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Snowmen aren’t forever

As we were coming home this evening after a long day of church and youth wrestling, my daughter and I noticed that the snowman she built earlier this week had started to melt. It still has its general shape and the sticks she used for arms are still there, but it is a smaller, less distinguished version of itself, and its holly-leaf eyes and nose are gone. “Awww,” she said, “My snowman is melting. I worked so hard on him.” 

“Sadly dear, nothing in this world lasts forever,” I told her, “So we have to appreciate them while they are here.” “But daddy,” she replied, “I saw a sign the other day that said, ‘Presidents are temporary. Wu-Tang is forever.'” I grew up listening to the hip hop group Wu-Tang Clan so I couldn’t help but to laugh when I heard this.

“That’s just hyperbole, dear,” I said, “Wu-Tang is not really forever any more than your snowman is.” “What’s hyperbole?” she asked. “It’s an exaggeration,” I told her, “but its an exaggeration not meant to be taken seriously. It’s a joke. Wu-Tang Clan has been making music for over thirty years, but, like your snowman, they aren’t forever. Only God is forever.” 

Now, I realize that this is too much for a nine-year-old to fully comprehend. Honestly, the concepts of transience and eternity are too much for any of us to fully comprehend. However, I don’t think it’s a conversation that should be avoided. Our time here is extremely short and our time with our children is even shorter. What good does it do to withhold the most important conversations about the most important subjects from them? 

Of course, I want my daughter to enjoy her childhood and to be a kid for as long as she can be a kid, but I also want her to know that there is more to life than simply what she sees and feels. My hope is that, by understanding just how impermanent her snowman, or Wu-Tang Clan, is, that she appreciates it even more while it lasts. 

Her experience of building that particular snowman in that particular moment was truly one of a kind. It never happened before and will never happen again. Her sadness in seeing it melt is real and it should be acknowledged as such. If she cared about what she created, of course there is some grief in its passing, even if it is just a snowman. This sense of loss is real and it will not be the last time she experiences it. 

But I don’t think God created this world of impermanence simply for us to exist in a perpetual state of sadness, grief, and loss. Rather, the fact that we live in an ever-changing world where everything that is born eventually dies and everything that is built eventually crumbles should make us appreciate the preciousness of each and every moment, experience, and interaction as the amazing gift that it is. Furthermore, this experience of impermanence calls us to go deeper, to seek or settle into that which does not change, does not die, and does not pass away (Malachi 3:6). 

Like my daughter’s snowman, “Everything around us is going to melt away, (2 Peter 3:11).” So our task, it seems, is to cherish our time here as much as possible without clinging to it. As St. Francis of Assisi said, we are to “wear this world like a loose garment.” But we are called to do so while loving so deeply that, through our example, others may also come to know the constancy of God’s eternity through Christ Jesus (John 13:34-35). 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Be right or be free

During the recent snowstorm we had, my wife unknowingly parked in a parking space that someone else had shoveled out for herself. By the time she parked there, almost every parking space in our complex had been cleared out, so it seemed harmless to take whatever space was available. But when she returned to her car, there was an angry note on her windshield. 

The note read something like, “I don’t appreciate you parking in the parking space that I shoveled out for myself. I had to get surgery and was counting on being able to park in that space when I got back. That’s why I put the orange cone there.” 

The problem is that, when my wife parked there, there was no orange cone. It was simply one of many empty parking spaces. She also had no way of knowing that the person who shoveled it out was having surgery. Nor was this an assigned or handicapped parking space. It was truly an innocent misunderstanding, but this misunderstanding created an unfortunate chain reaction.

Anger is a funny thing. It often seems as if it’s contagious. For example, my wife unknowingly parked in a parking space that another woman believed belonged to her. The woman got angry and left an inflammatory note on my wife’s car. When my wife read the note, she got angry. Feeling she was unjustly criticized, I then got angry on my wife’s behalf. But I soon began to see the absurdity of all of this anger over a parking space. 

As I sat with this thought for a while, it occurred to me that resentment is really a distraction. In fact, it’s a deadly distraction in that it separates us from God. It prevents us from looking to him for guidance and listening for his quiet voice. Resentment convinces us that our feelings are more important what Jesus’s says is the greatest commandments of all, which is to love God with all of our heart, soul, and mind, and to love our neighbors as ourselves (Matthew 22:36-40 NIV). To willfully hold onto a resentment is to defy God himself. 

And so we have a decision to make. We can either be angry or we can be obedient. We can hold onto resentments or we can make room in our hearts to hear God’s voice. We can be right, at least in our own minds, or we can forgive and be free. As it says in the book of Matthew 6:14-15, if we forgive others, God will forgive us, but if we choose not to forgive, we will also not be forgiven. A heart filled with anger has no room for love and, since we are told that God is love, that means that a heart filled with anger has no room for God (1 John 4:8). 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Check your connection

We had a fairly big snowstorm hit us earlier this week. That is to say, for our area and the infrastructure we have in place to handle it, we got enough snow to shut things down for a few days, including my daughter’s school. As such, we have spent a lot of time together at home this week. 

While her mother and I worked from home, we let our daughter watch a few movie’s on her mother’s iPad in between playing outside, reading, doing art projects, etc. Since I need some degree of quiet to do my work, I asked her to wear headphones while she watched Shrek for the hundredth time. I’m not knocking Shrek by the way. It’s a great movie and, apparently, since I just found out it came out in 2001, it stands the test of time. 

Not a moment after she got set up with the iPad, headphones on, all snuggled up in her blanket, when I heard her say, “I don’t hear anything. Daddy, I don’t hear anything. It’s not working.” Not wanting to get up from my work, I decided to draw experience from my former career as a commercial coffee-equipment repair technician and I went into troubleshooting mode. 

  1. “Does it have power?” Yes.
  2. “Is it connected to the wifi?” Yes.
  3. “Is the movie playing?” Yes. 
  4. “Is the volume turned up?” Yes. 
  5. “Are the headphones plugged into the iPad?” Yes.
  6. “Is the wire plugged into the headphones?” Oh! No. It’s loose. It’s plugged in now. That worked. Thanks, daddy!

Problem solved, but, being in the middle of studying and writing about Christian theology and spiritual practices, this interaction got me thinking. Prayer, it seems, works a lot like this. 

One aspect of prayer is petitioning to God for answers to questions we have. We humbly ask him for guidance, inspiration, or discernment so that we can better understand and conform to his will. But sometimes we pray and pray, and the answers just don’t seem to come. 

It’s easy to assume that, when we can’t hear Him, God is just being quiet, that he is not answering our prayers, that we are being ignored, or that that we need to pray harder. But we rarely stop to think about our connection. What if we can’t hear him because our connection is broken? We know from Scripture that God does not abandon his people (Psalm 94:14) and that, if we reach out to him with a contrite heart and faithful intentions, his hand will be there (Jeremiah 29:12-13). 

The Bible also tells us that God is faithful (Deuteronomy 7:9), that he hears and answers our prayers (Psalm 34:17), and, above all, that he loves us (1 John 4:16). In fact, it also tells us that God knows what we need before we even ask (Matthew 6:8). The problem, therefore, is not likely to be on God’s end. When we pray and can’t hear the answer, we may need to check our connection. 

Here are a few questions worth asking yourself if you have been praying, but feel like God is not answering. 

  • Are your prayers sincere? 
  • Is there an answer in Scripture? 
  • Have you consulted with other Christians, perhaps with a spiritual director? 
  • Do you genuinely want God’s answer or are you simply waiting for the answer you want? 
  • Are you just avoiding making a decision and stepping out in faith? 
  • Is there something you have kept to yourself that may be blocking you from hearing God’s voice, something that requires confession? 
  • Have you turned your thoughts to someone else you can be of service to? This often helps distract us from our own selfish concerns, leaving room for God to speak. 
  • Are you simply being impatient? 
  • Do you leave space in your life to hear God’s voice? Do you have a quiet hour in the morning and/or the evening for spiritual reading, prayer, and contemplation? Or are you so busy that you couldn’t hear him even if he was yelling? 

I hope this helps. When in doubt, check your headphones. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh

To read my poetry, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior