Category: Faith

God’s Voice

Posted on by Katie Ganshert

Do you ever feel like God is speaking to you? Do you ever have these moments of clarity, where something presses so firmly against your heart that it can’t be ignored? You just know He’s inviting you to do something. To take part in something. The urge is undeniable.

But then fear or laziness or selfishness creeps in, and we start to think about all the reasons why we can’t do this thing. It’s too expensive. It’s too time-consuming. It’s too crazy. It’s too (fill in the blank).

And then we start convincing ourselves that it wasn’t really God who pressed that thing on our heart. It was just this strange urge. An impulsive, irrational moment. We were emotional that day. Or over-tired. Or (fill in the blank).

And so we go about our every-day, humdrum life. We don’t do anything bad. We go to church. We read our Bible. We pray. We cling to safety. To familiarity. And we wonder why we can’t hear God’s voice as well as we used to.

But what would happen if we listened? What would happen if we obeyed before we talked ourselves out of the things He calls us to do? How clearly would we hear His voice then?

Here’s my confession.

I settle for the easy because I’m too selfish to embrace the hard.

But you know what?

God’s going to carry out His will. God’s going to do His thing. And it will be glorious and awe-inspiring and 100% breathtaking. But because I’m too scared or logical or self-centered or lazy or (fill in the blank), I will miss out on being a part of it.

If you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place….

Esther 4:14

God was going to save the Jews, with or without Esther’s help. But He invited Esther to be a part of His plan. She said yes. And because of that, experienced God’s power and grace in a way she never would have had she said no.

God spoke to me recently. It was clear. So very clear. I don’t want to ignore His invitation.

Let’s Talk: Tell me about a time in your life when God spoke. How did you respond?removetweetmeme

God’s Silence

Posted on by Katie Ganshert

Do you ever feel like God is silent?

Are you convinced the silence means He’s not listening, or He doesn’t care, or maybe He’s not even there?

Perhaps you’ve prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed about this one person, or this one thing, or this one situation. You’re desperate for relief or confirmation or acknowledgement or peace. Your knees are sore from all the praying, from all the waiting. And yet….

God is silent.

I recently heard an incredibly powerful sermon by Dan Buraga, the young adult pastor at my church.

He preached from the story of Esther.

He talked about how Esther, a Jewish queen, delivered God’s people from death.

Then he made the connection to Jesus – our ultimate deliverer.

He made the connection to the most crucial moment in history, when God’s beloved son hung on that cross and cried out to His father from the depths of his soul, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

And the Father, who had perfect communion with the Son, did not answer. He did not reach out and save His boy.

God was silent.

And in that silence, He offered deliverance to us all.

This is the same God whose name can be found in one form or another in every single book in the Bible.

Every single book except one.

The book of Esther.

A story of deliverance.

And God is not mentioned once. He is completely and utterly silent. Just as He was completely and utterly silent that day on the cross.

Yet His presence shouts.

From the pages of Esther, where a Jewish queen saves her people. From Golgotha, where Jesus was crucified. From the temple, where the curtain was torn. From the earth that shook. And the sky that darkened.

His presence shouts.

And we’re reminded that God’s silence does not mean His absence.

Let’s Talk: How do you handle God’s silence?

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Laughter and Division

Posted on by Katie Ganshert

In junior high and high school, I had this friend. We were best friends. And we laughed.

In sixth grade, we’d walk home from school together and every single day, we’d end up laughing so hard our stomach’s would hurt. And okay. Maybe on occasion, one of us would pee our pants just a little.

We were inseparable. We played sports together. We fell through the ice together (why yes, yes we did). We had this ridiculous bike we would ride together. Usually to Taco Bell at midnight. And whoever sat on the rack in the back would scream to the one in front to peddle faster, terrified of the dark that chased us. These Taco Bell rides often led to insane, stomach-hurting laughter.

Throughout junior high, we’d write notes to one another. She’d always put BFF on the bottom of the page. Only I had no clue what BFF meant. And my insecure preteen self wasn’t about to ask. So I’d write it back, hoping it made sense.

I know what it means now.

Best Friends Forever.

Our senior year, about a week after we graduated high school, she and I were sitting on this dock at night. The Mississippi River swirling in front of us with all it’s mysterious currents. Bob Marley playing in the background. And we had this conversation. The kind of conversation that sticks with you.

I remember one of us saying, “Isn’t it weird, how in ten years, we won’t know each other like we know each other right now?” It seemed impossible. But we both knew it was true. She was going to Iowa. I was going to Wisconsin. Things were bound to change.

And they did.

Freshman year. Madison. Witte Hall. Tenth floor. My dorm room. I gave my life to Christ.

In my fervor to share this indescribable feeling bubbling up inside me, I sent my friend an email. I wanted to share this joy and this hope. I wanted her to have it too. My passion could not be contained. It spilled over into a letter. And it absolutely freaked her out. I don’t blame her. I would have been freaked out too.

Christ is love. Christ is life. Christ is light. But sometimes, Christ divides.

My friend and I tried to recover. When we came home for the holidays, I tried to smooth over the damage my uncensored passion created. With a little perspective, I could see that perhaps I’d handled things poorly. My friend tried too. But things were different. We were different. Headed in opposite directions.

I don’t write memoirs.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t pull from personal experience when I write my fiction. My debut novel, Wildflowers from Winter, is a romance. But it’s also a story about two friends. Two friends who were once inseparable. Two friends who went their separate ways. Two friends pulled back together by tragedy.

And this Christ who divides?

He also heals.

Let’s Talk: Who was your best friend growing up? Are you still friends today?removetweetmeme