We sat in our seats at church, waiting for the message to begin. I bought a notebook to church instead of a Bible. I probably should bring both. I guess I value taking notes more than reading along. Is that good or right? I’m not sure about all that but its what works for me.
As our pastor begins his sermon, I set my pen down. You see, earlier that morning I had finished writing a post for this very blog. It was about the Israelites in the wilderness and their desire to turn back. And there was our pastor, preaching on the exact same message. At times, he even repeated word for word sentences I had written just hours earlier.
Isn’t it amazing when God does that? When He confirms a message in multiple ways, as if whispering, “Yes, you’re hearing Me. You’re on the right track.” It makes me lean in, knowing that if God has laid this so strongly on my heart, I need to pay close attention.
I looked up at the ceiling and wondered, Who are You, that You would care enough about me, just me, to confirm Your message so personally?
When the pastor finished, I glanced at my notes, shaking my head at God’s timing. I get such a kick out of Him sometimes, at the lengths He goes to teach me, to make me smile, and yes, even to correct me. He never gives up on the truths He repeats over and over (and then over again) until they finally sink in. Still, every reminder is given with love, endless patience, and His constant presence that never leaves me.
I’ve had this happen before, on multiple occasions, when God is trying to give me a message. He repeats it through different people, different sources, and confirms it again and again. I know the critical rule: always hold what you think you’re hearing from God up against the truth of Scripture. If it doesn’t line up with the Bible, it’s not from Him. But when it does line up, when it all fits perfectly, I know He’s not only teaching me the lesson He wants me to learn; He’s teaching me to recognize His voice.
That’s something so special, so sacred, that I never want to take it for granted. I want Him to teach me more moments like this. I want to be more sensitive when He’s speaking, more ready to hear Him when He has a message for me.
I picked up on it twice this time, two moments where He spoke the exact same truth so clearly I couldn’t miss it. But I can’t help but wonder, how many times has He tried to tell me that same thing, and I didn’t see it? I want to be so sensitive to His voice that I don't miss it next time.
I have a long ways to go, and chances are that I miss most of what God puts in front of me. But today, I got the message. True, it was painfully obvious and really no credit goes to me for catching a ball dropped directly into my hands. But, I celebrate it anyway.
It reminds me of the story of Samuel in the Bible (Samuel 3). Here's how I imagine it went.
The Message
I remember that night like it was yesterday. The lamps in the temple burned low, their golden glow flickering softly against the stone walls. Eli was resting nearby, his breathing slow and steady. His health wasn’t what it used to be. His eyesight had grown dim, and his steps were slower now. Because of that, whenever he called for me, I responded immediately. It was my honor to serve him, this man who had dedicated his entire life to serving the Lord.
I had just laid down, my thoughts quiet, my young heart content to serve in the house of the Lord.
And then, I heard it.
“Samuel.”
My eyes flew open. I knew that voice, or so I thought. I scrambled from my mat and ran to Eli. “Here I am,” I said breathlessly, “you called me.”
Eli stirred, blinking in confusion. “I didn’t call you, my son,” he murmured. “Go back and lie down.”
I felt a little foolish as I tiptoed back to bed, but before long, I heard it again.
“Samuel.”
This time I didn’t hesitate. I darted to Eli, certain that he must have called me. Again, he shook his head, gentler this time. “I did not call, my son. Go and lie down.”
By now, I was puzzled. Was I imagining things? I settled back down, heart thudding a little faster.
Then it came again, firm, clear, unmistakable. “Samuel.”
I jumped to my feet, hurrying to Eli a third time. “Here I am! You called me!”
It was then that something shifted in Eli’s eyes. A knowing look came over him. He sat up and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Go and lie down,” he said, “and if He calls you again, say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’”
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why me? If God was going to speak to anyone, surely it would have been Eli. He had served the Lord his whole life. He was the priest, the one people looked to for guidance and wisdom. I was just a boy, learning what it meant to serve in the temple. And yet, the voice had called my name, not his.
What surprised me even more was Eli’s kindness in that moment. He didn’t dismiss me. He didn’t grow jealous or bitter that God’s voice had come to me instead of him. No, Eli believed me. He taught me how to respond, how to listen to the Lord and recognize His voice. That lesson would shape me for the rest of my life.
I went back and lay down again, my heart pounding in my chest. The room felt different now, holy, alive, as though the very air was expectant.
Then it happened.
“Samuel. Samuel.”
The voice wasn’t harsh or distant. It was tender, personal, like someone who knew me better than I knew myself. Trembling, I whispered into the darkness, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”
And He spoke. Oh, how He spoke. Not with the booming thunder I might have imagined, but with a voice that filled me with awe and fear all at once. He told me of things to come, of a message I would carry to Eli. I didn’t sleep much that night. How could I? I had heard the voice of the Living God.
But the message. The message wasn’t easy.
I had always imagined that if God ever spoke to me, it would be something joyful, something exciting, maybe a blessing or a promise. But what He said that night weighed heavy on my heart. He spoke of judgment, judgment against Eli’s house.
The man who had raised me. The one who taught me the ways of the Lord. The one I had just run to in the dark.
God told me that Eli’s sons had dishonored Him and that Eli had not stopped them. He said their guilt would not be atoned for by sacrifice or offering. The words were clear, final, and filled with sorrow.
I lay there until morning, eyes wide open, unable to sleep. The sun began to rise, casting golden light across the temple floor, and I knew I had to face him. I had to face Eli. I stayed in bed longer than I should have, afraid to move, afraid to speak. My hands were shaking. I didn’t want to tell him. Not this.
But Eli called for me. “Samuel, my son.”
I walked to him slowly, every step heavy. “Here I am.”
And then he asked, “What was it that He said to you? Do not hide it from me. May God deal with you, be it ever so severely, if you hide from me anything He told you.”
I looked into the eyes of the man who had raised me, the man who had believed in me, who had taught me to listen for God’s voice. And I told him everything. Every word. I didn’t hold anything back. My voice trembled, but I spoke the truth.
And do you know what Eli said?
“He is the Lord; let Him do what is good in His eyes.”
There was no anger. No blame. Just acceptance. Reverence.
It struck me then, sometimes the hardest part isn’t hearing God. The hardest part is obeying Him.
That morning I learned something that would mark my entire life: when God speaks, it's not always easy. But it is always right. And if I was going to be His servant, truly His, I had to be willing not just to listen, but to act. Even when it broke my heart.
That was the day I stopped being just a boy in the temple. That was the day I began becoming a prophet.
The Obedience
Samuel’s story stays with me, not just because he heard God’s voice, but because he responded to it. He obeyed, even when the message was difficult, even when it meant speaking truth to someone he loved. That kind of faithfulness moves me.
Sometimes, like Samuel, I long to hear from God. I ask Him to speak, to guide me, to show me what He wants me to know. When He does, when He confirms a message through a sermon, a verse, or even something I’ve written in my own notebook, it fills me with joy. But also, it can come with a challenge.
The real test isn’t just in hearing God, it’s in doing what He says. And not just once. Not just when it’s obvious or dramatic. But in the quiet, unnoticed, daily moments. It’s in doing what He says consistently, in the little things, day in and day out, that I find the real struggle.
I think about what it must have cost someone like Samuel to live his whole life as a prophet. To wake up every morning and not ask, “What do I want to say today?” but instead, “What does God want to say?” To carry words from heaven that might comfort, or confront. That might bless, or break.
Then I think about my own life. How challenging it can be for me just to know and do what God wants on a regular Tuesday. To forgive when I’d rather hold a grudge. To trust when I’d rather worry. To act when I’d rather stay comfortable.
To be a prophet meant surrender. It meant saying what God wanted said, not what Samuel wanted to say. It meant doing what God wanted done, not what made sense in the moment.
Here’s something else I’ve noticed. Samuel was at rest when he heard God’s voice. He wasn’t striving or performing. He was lying still in the quiet of night. Isn’t that interesting? Sometimes to hear God, we have to slow down, rest our body, calm our mind, make space for stillness. Rest is one of the good gifts of life. It’s not just recovery, it’s preparation. It’s where our hearts get soft again. It’s where we begin to listen.
That listening, that sacred ability to recognize and heed the voice of God, that is the beginning of kingdom work. The Holy Spirit is always protecting, always prompting, always guiding. But we are created with free will. We get to choose: will we follow where the Spirit leads? Or will we go our own way?
You’re moving in the right direction when you’re learning to recognize His voice. And you’re growing stronger when you learn to heed it.
Because really, isn’t that the invitation for all of us? To listen closely, follow obediently, and trust that even when it’s hard, especially when it’s hard, God’s way is always best.