When God Answers a Question You Barely Whispered

This morning I nearly stayed in bed. The kind of bone-deep tired where the blankets feel like sanctuary and the rest of the world feels like a negotiable suggestion. Too many demands stacked back-to-back, too many family fires to put out, too many people tugging on the edges of my attention. For a social introvert, that’s the fast lane to burnout. And without any B & B time — bath and bourbon — the recovery tank stays running on fumes.

But something tugged at me. Not obligation, not guilt, but that quiet nudge you get when God is clearing His throat. I’ve been asking Him a question for a while now, the kind you don’t want to say out loud because it feels raw:

“Is my life worth telling?”

It’s a vulnerable question for a writer. I’ve written books, posted blogs, filled journals… but it still creeps in — that sharp little doubt that says, Who cares? Why bother?

And because I’m both faithful and stubborn, I asked the only Source I genuinely trust. (I trust my husband too, but let’s be honest — he’s biased and thinks the sun rises because I get out of bed. Sweet, but not exactly neutral.)

Now, God and I have an agreement:
I need three signs.
Not one. Not two.
Three.

Call it my doubting-Thomas clause. He humors me.

And as usual, He delivered.

Sign One: The People Who Wanted My Story More Than Their Own

Two events. Two nights in a row. Same group of people — warm, curious, openhearted. I was doing my intuitive entertainment thing, celebrating the things that make them unique and remarkable.

But unexpectedly — repeatedly — they flipped the script.

“What about you?”
“What’s your story?”
“How did you get into this?”

More than ten people leaned in, not to receive insights from me, but to know me. That alone was enough to make me pause. It doesn’t usually go that direction. I’m the mirror, not the subject.

But then came the second sign.

Sign Two: A Phone Call I Normally Wouldn’t Have Answered

Unknown number. Normally that goes straight to voicemail.
But not this time. I answered — and stepped right into sign number two wrapped in a human voice.

The woman introduced herself softly, almost shyly. She told me she’d known me for over a decade — not personally, but through my words. My blog posts. My stories. My laughter. My tears on the page. She’d followed every thread I left behind.

And then she told her story.
And how she resonated with mine.

I sat there, holding the phone like a fragile thing, listening to a stranger who somehow wasn’t a stranger at all. A voice from somewhere out there in the wide digital ether saying:

“Your life mattered to me. Your story reached me.”

Sign two. Clear as a sunrise.

Sign Three: The Pattern You Cannot Pretend Not to See

Three nights.
Three confirmations.
More than ten people carrying the same message like couriers on assignment.

Even for a skeptic-with-faith like me…
that’s hard to dismiss.

God doesn’t tap dance.
He repeats Himself until you quit pretending you didn’t hear.

The Real Truth: I Write Constantly — Just Not Publicly

My head is a constant stream of paragraphs, observations, metaphors, dialogues with God, and musings on life’s messiness. Less than 1% makes it to paper. Even less ever sees daylight.

But here’s the kicker — and the conviction:

If you ask God a question, and He answers it three times in three days…
don’t you owe Him a response?

And don’t you owe yourself one, too?

The Turning Point

So this is my line in the sand — or at least in the rumpled bedsheets I almost didn’t leave this morning.

It’s time to rethink my schedule.
Reclaim my energy.
And make space for what I do well and what I love deeply:

Writing. Consistently. Openly. Unapologetically.

Because apparently —
miraculously —
my life is worth telling.

And if that’s the answer He took the time to send…
I’m going to honor it.