What's Your Biggest Frustration with Hearing God

[Mark Dohle]

Hello,
I am thankful and blessed to be a part of this forum. I have been a Christian for many years but was never taught how to hear God's voice in the church. As I raise my two daughters, I realize that they face the same situation. I do my best to teach them how to hear God but feel like I could do so much better.

I asked my 14-year-old daughter today if she feels that she hears from God and she said no. I tried to give her some examples of how God can talk to her and that it doesn't need to be a "voice" that you hear.

I guess my question here is what do you find your biggest frustrations are about hearing God? How do you feel you best hear from God?

I look forward to hearing your responses. May God bless you abundantly.

For me, God's voice never forces. So if I feel that I am being pushed in a compulsive to do something for God, I tend to not act on it. Many voices in our heads, God's voice is heard in quiet and peace. Of course it is in the reading of the Scriptures tht God's voice can be discern to be true.....as well as the fruit that comes from it.

Peace
mark

 

[Being Transformed]

Hello,
I am thankful and blessed to be a part of this forum. I have been a Christian for many years but was never taught how to hear God's voice in the church. As I raise my two daughters, I realize that they face the same situation. I do my best to teach them how to hear God but feel like I could do so much better.

I asked my 14-year-old daughter today if she feels that she hears from God and she said no. I tried to give her some examples of how God can talk to her and that it doesn't need to be a "voice" that you hear.

I guess my question here is what do you find your biggest frustrations are about hearing God? How do you feel you best hear from God?

I look forward to hearing your responses. May God bless you abundantly.

 

[Being Transformed]

I would say the biggest frustration I hear from others about hearing God is whether they believe they can actually hear God. Many ask how do they know the difference between God's voice and our own voice. One of my favorite ways to hear God is to read the Bible OUT LOUD. God wrote it. When we read it out loud its like God speaking to us. Hopefully this encourages you.

 

[Francis Drake]

I would say the biggest frustration I hear from others about hearing God is whether they believe they can actually hear God. Many ask how do they know the difference between God's voice and our own voice. One of my favorite ways to hear God is to read the Bible OUT LOUD. God wrote it. When we read it out loud its like God speaking to us. Hopefully this encourages you.

Nope. This just encourages more theology.
Whilst important, reading scripture is no substitute for hearing God's directive voice for your circumstances right now.

It was a revelation, not scripture, that told me to leave my teaching job and go self employed in the mid 80s.
It was a prophetic word, not scripture, that 4 years ago told me to sell my house and move to a different part of the country.
It was a word of knowledge, not scripture, that told me "This is your new house" as my wife and I walked around a large Victorian house that was beyond our finances.
It was a vision, not scripture, that told me how to repair a critical piece of production machinery in my business.
It was a dream, not scripture, that revealed a serious plumbing problem that was delaying the handover of a property we were renovating.
It was a revelation, not scripture that told me to buy a wholesale business.
It was an urgent whisper of the Spirit, not scripture, that warned me to brake because there was a crash around the next bend.

And so on and so forth...………..
I love the scriptures, but if I want to know what the Lord is saying to me, I seek his face directly, not his book.

Like a child, I have been listening for and hearing the voice of my God for more than 50 years, long before I knew anything of scripture. My life has been directed by that voice, and yes, many times I have struggled to hear or make sense of it.
But practice makes perfect, and Daddy God is far bigger than my mistakes.

 

[Being Transformed]

Nope. This just encourages more theology.
Whilst important, reading scripture is no substitute for hearing God's directive voice for your circumstances right now.

It was a revelation, not scripture, that told me to leave my teaching job and go self employed in the mid 80s.
It was a prophetic word, not scripture, that 4 years ago told me to sell my house and move to a different part of the country.
It was a word of knowledge, not scripture, that told me "This is your new house" as my wife and I walked around a large Victorian house that was beyond our finances.
It was a vision, not scripture, that told me how to repair a critical piece of production machinery in my business.
It was a dream, not scripture, that revealed a serious plumbing problem that was delaying the handover of a property we were renovating.
It was a revelation, not scripture that told me to buy a wholesale business.
It was an urgent whisper of the Spirit, not scripture, that warned me to brake because there was a crash around the next bend.

And so on and so forth...………..
I love the scriptures, but if I want to know what the Lord is saying to me, I seek his face directly, not his book.

Like a child, I have been listening for and hearing the voice of my God for more than 50 years, long before I knew anything of scripture. My life has been directed by that voice, and yes, many times I have struggled to hear or make sense of it.
But practice makes perfect, and Daddy God is far bigger than my mistakes.

I also believe in listening and following God's direction. I have journaled for over 9 years with God and He has given me so much direction. God is the ONLY One who knows everything.

 

[J.P. Zaleta]

Hello,
I am thankful and blessed to be a part of this forum. I have been a Christian for many years but was never taught how to hear God's voice in the church. As I raise my two daughters, I realize that they face the same situation. I do my best to teach them how to hear God but feel like I could do so much better.

I asked my 14-year-old daughter today if she feels that she hears from God and she said no. I tried to give her some examples of how God can talk to her and that it doesn't need to be a "voice" that you hear.

I guess my question here is what do you find your biggest frustrations are about hearing God? How do you feel you best hear from God?

I look forward to hearing your responses. May God bless you abundantly.

Hey Julie

I am a new here too. Nice to meet you.

My biggest frustration is not being able to convince others that God is communicating to us all the time. We are all His sheep capable of experiencing communication with Him.

As you said, literal, audible, heard as sound in our ears, voice, is not the only way to experience communication with our creator.

Mark Virkler has a website, with lots of info, on a simple technique anyone can use, with plenty of Bible proofs that can back it up.

Check it out! He comes out near the top on Google searches.

 

[J.P. Zaleta]

When I came to Christ there were revivals, camp meetings, and conferences everywhere. Now I am hard pressed to find them. I would classify my life early on as rich in spiritual experience, like given in the stories below..The old Pentecostal Holiness preserved the old Methodist revival that occurred 100 years before them. The man who tells this best was GC Rankin.

George Clark Rankin was sent to Georgia after his grandfather could no longer care for him and tells his story. On his belongings in a satchel he had a Colt's navy pistol of a large make. It was an old weapon, and what under the sun I wanted with it is a mystery to me to this good day. I reached the station in time to catch the eleven-o' clock train. I purchased my ticket and boarded the car for the first time in my life. I had one lone lorn fifty-cent piece left in my depleted purse, and that was the sum and substance of my finances for the rest of the trip. As the train whizzed along I looked first at the people and then through the window at the country and thought over my journey and what was to come of it. At nine o'clock we reached Dalton and disembarked. I had never been in a hotel. I saw one not far from the depot and went to it. I asked the clerk what he would charge me for a room that night and he said fifty cents. That was exactly my pile! I called for the accommodation, but before retiring I told him I wanted to leave very early the next morning for Spring Place and that I would pay him then, for no one would be up when I would leave. He smiled and took the silver half dollar. I went to my room, and solitude is no name for the room I occupied that night. After a while I fell into a sound sleep and awoke bright and early the next morning. It was not good daylight. I arose and hastened downstairs, and there sat the same clerk whom I had the night before it had never dawned on me that a hotel clerk sat up all night. I thanked him for his kindness and bade him good-bye in regular old country style.

It was not long until I was in the road and making tracks across the country to where my uncle lived. It was in 1866 and the marks of Sherman's march to the sea were everywhere visible. The country was very much out of repair and all around Dalton the earth was marked with breastworks. Every hill showed signs of war. Much of the fencing had not been restored and here and there I could see blackened chimneys still standing. After I had gotten out a few miles I stopped and took that old pistol with its belt and scabbard out of my satchel and buckled the war paraphernalia around my person on the outside of my coat. Just why I did this I cannot explain. I must have looked a caution in my homespun suit and rural air trudging along that highway with that old army pistol fastened around me. In going down a hill toward a ravine from which there was another hill in front of me I met two men horseback. There were two others riding down the hill in front of me, and as the first two passed me they stopped and looked back at the others and shouted: "Lookout, boys, he is loaded!"
In the course of an hour I was at my uncle's. He was surprised to see me, but gave me a cordial welcome. The first thing he did was to disarm me, and that ended my pistol-toting. I have never had one about my person or home to this good day. And I never will understand just why I had that one. A good dinner refreshed me and I soon unfolded my plans and they were satisfactory to my kind-hearted kinsman. He was in the midst of cotton-picking and that afternoon I went to the field and, with a long sack about my waist, had my first experience in the cottonfield. We then would get ready for the revival occurring that night…

After the team had been fed and we had been to supper we put the mules to the wagon, filled it with chairs and we were off to the meeting. When we reached the locality it was about dark and the people were assembling. Their horses and wagons filled up the cleared spaces and the singing was already in progress. My uncle and his family went well up toward the front, but I dropped into a seat well to the rear. It was an old-fashioned Church, ancient in appearance, oblong in shape and unpretentious. It was situated in a grove about one hundred yards from the road. It was lighted with old tallow-dip candles furnished by the neighbors. It was not a prepossessing-looking place, but it was soon crowded and evidently there was a great deal of interest. A cadaverous-looking man stood up in front with a tuning fork and raised and led the songs. There were a few prayers and the minister came in with his saddlebags and entered the pulpit. He was the Rev. W. H. Heath, the circuit rider. His prayer impressed me with his earnestness and there were many amens to it in the audience. I do not remember his text, but it was a typical revival sermon, full of unction and power.

At its close he invited penitents to the altar and a great many young people flocked to it and bowed for prayer. Many of them became very much affected and they cried out distressingly for mercy. It had a strange effect on me. It made me nervous and I wanted to retire. Directly my uncle came back to me, put his arm around my shoulder and asked me if I did not want to be religious. I told him that I had always had that desire, that mother had brought me up that way, and really I did not know anything else. Then he wanted to know if I had ever professed religion. I hardly understood what he meant and did not answer him. He changed his question and asked me if I had ever been to the altar for prayer, and I answered him in the negative. Then he earnestly besought me to let him take me up to the altar and join the others in being prayed for. It really embarrassed me and I hardly knew what to say to him. He spoke to me of my mother and said that when she was a little girl she went to the altar and that Christ accepted her and she had been a good Christian all these years. That touched me in a tender spot, for mother always did do what was right; and then I was far away from her and wanted to see her. Oh, if she were there to tell me what to do!

By and by I yielded to his entreaty and he led forward to the altar. The minister took me by the hand and spoke tenderly to me as I knelt at the altar. I had gone more out of sympathy than conviction, and I did not know what to do after I bowed there. The others were praying aloud and now and then one would rise shoutingly happy and make the old building ring with his glad praise. It was a novel experience to me. I did not know what to pray for, neither did I know what to expect if I did pray. I spent the most of the hour wondering why I was there and what it all meant. No one explained anything to me. Once in awhile some good old brother or sister would pass my way, strike me on the back and tell me to look up and believe and the blessing would come. But that was not encouraging to me. In fact, it sounded like nonsense and the noise was distracting me. Even in my crude way of thinking I had an idea that religion was a sensible thing and that people ought to become religious intelligently and without all that hurrah. I presume that my ideas were the result of the Presbyterian training given to me by old grandfather. By and by my knees grew tired and the skin was nearly rubbed off my elbows. I thought the service never would close, and when it did conclude with the benediction I heaved a sigh of relief. That was my first experience at the mourner's bench.

As we drove home I did not have much to say, but I listened attentively to the conversation between my uncle and his wife. They were greatly impressed with the meeting, and they spoke first of this one and that one who had "come through" and what a change it would make in the community, as many of them were bad boys. As we were putting up the team my uncle spoke very encouragingly to me; he was delighted with the step I had taken and he pleaded with me not to turn back, but to press on until I found the pearl of great price. He knew my mother would be very happy over the start I had made. Before going to sleep I fell into a train of thought, though I was tired and exhausted. I wondered why I had gone to that altar and what I had gained by it. I felt no special conviction and had received no special impression, but then if my mother had started that way there must be something in it, for she always did what was right. I silently lifted my heart to God in prayer for conviction and guidance. I knew how to pray, for I had come up through prayer, but not the mourner's bench sort. So I determined to continue to attend the meeting and keep on going to the altar until I got religion.

Early the next morning I was up and in a serious frame of mind. I went with the other hands to the cottonfield and at noon I slipped off in the barn and prayed. But the more I thought of the way those young people were moved in the meeting and with what glad hearts they had shouted their praises to God the more it puzzled and confused me. I could not feel the conviction that they had and my heart did not feel melted and tender. I was callous and unmoved in feeling and my distress on account of sin was nothing like theirs. I did not understand my own state of mind and heart. It troubled me, for by this time I really wanted to have an experience like theirs.

When evening came I was ready for Church service and was glad to go. It required no urging. Another large crowd was present and the preacher was as earnest as ever. I did not give much heed to the sermon. In fact, I do not recall a word of it. I was anxious for him to conclude and give me a chance to go to the altar. I had gotten it into my head that there was some real virtue in the mourner's bench; and when the time came I was one of the first to prostrate myself before the altar in prayer. Many others did likewise. Two or three good people at intervals knelt by me and spoke encouragingly to me, but they did not help me. Their talks were mere exhortations to earnestness and faith, but there was no explanation of faith, neither was there any light thrown upon my mind and heart. I wrought myself up into tears and cries for help, but the whole situation was dark and I hardly knew why I cried, or what was the trouble with me. Now and then others would arise from the altar in an ecstasy of joy, but there was no joy for me. When the service closed I was discouraged and felt that maybe I was too hardhearted and the good Spirit could do nothing for me.

After we went home I tossed on the bed before going to sleep and wondered why God did not do for me what he had done for mother and what he was doing in that meeting for those young people at the altar. I could not understand it. But I resolved to keep on trying, and so dropped off to sleep. The next day I had about the same experience and at night saw no change in my condition. And so for several nights I repeated the same distressing experience. The meeting took on such interest that a day service was adopted along with the night exercises, and we attended that also. And one morning while I bowed at the altar in a very disturbed state of mind Brother Tyson, a good local preacher and the father of Rev. J. F. Tyson, now of the Central Conference, sat down by me and, putting his hand on my shoulder, said to me: "Now I want you to sit up awhile and let's talk this matter over quietly. I am sure that you are in earnest, for you have been coming to this altar night after night for several days. I want to ask you a few simple questions." And the following questions were asked and answered:

"My son, do you not love God?"

"I cannot remember when I did not love him."

"Do you believe on his Son, Jesus Christ?"

"I have always believed on Christ. My mother taught me that from my earliest recollection."

"Do you accept him as your Savior?"

"I certainly do, and have always done so."

"Can you think of any sin that is between you and the Savior?"

"No, sir; for I have never committed any bad sins."

"Do you love everybody?"

"Well, I love nearly everybody, but I have no ill-will toward any one. An old man did me a wrong not long ago and I acted ugly toward him, but I do not care to injure him."

"Can you forgive him?"

"Yes, if he wanted me to."

"But, down in your heart, can you wish him well?"

"Yes, sir; I can do that."

"Well, now let me say to you that if you love God, if you accept Jesus Christ as your Savior from sin and if you love your fellowmen and intend by God's help to lead a religious life, that's all there is to religion. In fact, that is all I know about it."

Then he repeated several passages of Scriptures to me proving his assertions. I thought a moment and said to him: "But I do not feel like these young people who have been getting religion night after night. I cannot get happy like them. I do not feel like shouting."

The good man looked at me and smiled and said: "Ah, that's your trouble. You have been trying to feel like them. Now you are not them; you are yourself. You have your own quiet disposition and you are not turned like them. They are excitable and blustery like they are. They give way to their feelings. That's all right, but feeling is not religion. Religion is faith and life. If you have violent feeling with it, all good and well, but if you have faith and not much feeling, why the feeling will take care of itself. To love God and accept Jesus Christ as your Savior, turning away from all sin, and living a godly life, is the substance of true religion."

That was new to me, yet it had been my state of mind from childhood. For I remembered that away back in my early life, when the old preacher held services in my grandmother's house one day and opened the door of the Church, I went forward and gave him my hand. He was to receive me into full membership at the end of six months' probation, but he let it pass out of his mind and failed to attend to it.

As I sat there that morning listening to the earnest exhortation of the good man my tears ceased, my distress left me, light broke in upon my mind, my heart grew joyous, and before I knew just what I was doing I was going all around shaking hands with everybody, and my confusion and darkness disappeared and a great burden rolled off my spirit. I felt exactly like I did when I was a little boy around my mother's knee when she told of Jesus and God and Heaven. It made my heart thrill then, and the same old experience returned to me in that old country Church that beautiful September morning down in old North Georgia.

I at once gave my name to the preacher for membership in the Church, and the following Sunday morning, along with many others, he received me into full membership in the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. It was one of the most delightful days in my recollection. It was the third Sunday in September, 1866, and those Church vows became a living principle in my heart and life. During these forty-five long years, with their alternations of sunshine and shadow, daylight and darkness, success and failure, rejoicing and weeping, fears within and fightings without, I have never ceased to thank God for that autumnal day in the long ago when my name was registered in the Lamb's Book of Life.

My biggest frustrations are in the fact that the revivals have dissipated away. One vacation while I was up in Michigan seeing some kin-folk I over heard two ladies say that they heard the Spirit prophesying that, "In the last day the people were going to have to, 'Cut their own paths' " I just know that prophecy was meant for my ears to hear.

Thanks for sharing such a long post.

 

[sea5763]

nvm

 

[J.P. Zaleta]

Hi sea5763, Hello all

I believe the biggest reason for people not hearing God
is they don’t believe they can. Then discount they have
when they do.

You believe as far as I can tell God speaks in many ways
besides audible voice or by reading the Bible.

You heard from Him in a dream and responded
to what you understood, [heard], He was speaking to you.
I applaud you that is being a doer of the word.

Doing it brought you into the Bible which
confirmed what happened was from God. Well done!
Can wisdom be found somewhere else besides the Bible?

In Proverbs wisdom is crying out in the streets
where all the violence, drug addicts, etc. hang out.

God bless,
JP

 

[sea5763]

nvm

 

[J.P. Zaleta]

Good morning, missmuppet, hi all

I am writing to you so you know you have eternal.
God's promises do not fail like our dear old dads' do.

Thank the Father for the completed work of His son,
completed at the cross.

Our salvation is now lived out,
seemingly as babies puking, pooping, and pee'n,
spilling milk all the time and making a mess.

But God still thinks of us as His darling little girl,
even if we are past 90.

Consider:
1 John 2:25 (KJV)
And this is the promise that he hath promised us, even eternal life.

1 John 5:11 (KJV)
And this is the record,
that God hath given to us eternal life,
and this life is in his Son.

1 John 5:13 (KJV)
These things have I written unto you that believe
on the name of the Son of God;
that ye may know that ye have eternal life,
and that ye may believe on the name of the Son of God.

Even though we think of ourselves as:

He thinks of as:

Remember God is always
Blessing and keeping us.
JP

 

[J.P. Zaleta]

thank you. Yes I believe that God can still speak to people. I do agree with some that you have to be careful because it is possible to hear spirits that are not of God as well, so it is important to check all of the messages against scripture. I don't know if I'm much of a doer of the word to be honest, but the dream made me curious about what else God had to say in the Bible as well. I am making an effort to be a doer and not just a hearer, as pitiful as that attempt really is.

Greetings sea5763, Hi all

I think we can surprise ourselves, with what we discover,
when we focus on what we are trying to do.

We do this by asking questions. Such as, I ask you the question,
“what do you mean by doing the word of God.”
Or, “why do you consider what you are doing as, ‘trying pitifully?’”

I am not looking for you to answer me publicly or me at all.
But I think if you ask yourself the question and answer it,
that's the operative word, “answered it.”
I think you will find that you will be satisfied with what you're doing.

Most people think, “doing,” at the top end, is being a pastor, evangelist,
or being off in outer Mongolia somewhere, on the mission field.
On the local level, going to services every Sunday, reading the Bible,
quiet time etc. would have you covered.

But then, when we fail to live up to someone else’s standards,
we don't think we're doing a very good job. Come up with your
own answer to the questions you ask yourself.

What does it mean to be a doer of the word daily?
The simple explanation is, do what He commands us to do.
What does He command us to do?
“In all thing give thanks for this is the will of God for your life.”
1 Thes 5:18

Early on in my walk, I thought I was doing a good job
in that department. Thanks, at meals, for the big blessing etc.

One day I saw a distinction between giving thanks for a trial
and giving thanks while in the trial. Giving thanks for a trial
while you are getting your butt whipped
is rather difficult to do with a sincere heart…

We're thinking, “why me Lord?”
Giving thanks seems hypocritical, at that point.
Giving thanks, while you're in the trial, for the deliverance,
well that’s a different story.

Giving thanks “always” seemed like a very difficult thing to do.
I decided on a simple plan. Give thanks for 3 things
when I got up and for 3 things at night.

The catch was trying to make it three different things
each time that I had never thanked God for.

After a few days this started to become difficult
but as I continued to practice, it got easier and easier
After a while I started getting into unusual things.

For instance lightning bugs. Or spoons and forks and knives
and at the same time being thankful
for the fact that I can have fried chicken
and eat corn on the Cob with my hands.

Or Ants digging their holes and making the ground soft,
opening little holes for the water to go down.

Practicing this in the morning and evening
had an unintended consequence,
now, all day long things keep popping into my head,
that I had never been thankful for.

Thanking our Jesus for these things continually made it very easy
to go through cancer and two heart attacks.
Thanking Him, for them and in them, who would have thought?

To sum up: my answer to what does it mean to do be a doer of the word is:

Hebrews 13:15-16 (KJV)
“By him therefore let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually,
that is, the fruit of our lips giving thanks to his name.
But to do good and to communicate forget not:
for with such sacrifices God is well pleased.”

I made a plan to do both. I can measure, objectively my results.
Did I do my good deed for the day? Gave someone an encouraging word?
Did I fellowship? “Communicate?” Communicate is often translated
as fellowship but communicate works just as well.

Did I communicate my word of encouragement?
Did I do a good deed for someone?
Simple as giving up your parking space, perhaps?
God is well pleased!

God bless,
JP