I remember when talking to God
felt like breathing.
Like I didn’t have to force the words out
or wonder if Heaven heard me.
Back then,
I would ask Him questions
like a daughter tugging on her Father’s sleeve,
and somehow…
the answers would meet me the next day.
Not always loud.
Not always dramatic.
But clear enough
that my spirit would sit still and whisper,
“that was Him.”
In high school,
my faith felt soft.
Natural.
Like waking up early just to talk before the world did.
I prayed over everything.
My future.
My fears.
People I loved.
The version of me I hoped to become.
And somehow,
even when life hurt back then,
I still felt close to Him.
Now?
Now I sit in silence
trying to separate God’s voice
from anxiety,
from overthinking,
from loneliness,
from my own desires dressed up as discernment.
And that scares me.
Because I know He’s there.
I know He never truly left.
But sometimes I feel spiritually disconnected
while still believing.
Like loving someone
through a closed door.
I crave discipline again.
Not the performative kind.
Not religion just to say I’m religious.
I miss softness.
I miss genuine prayer.
The kind where tears fall naturally
and I don’t have to search for words.
I miss opening my Bible
and feeling seen instead of confused.
I miss feeling convicted immediately.
Now I can sit in things too long.
Normalize things too long.
Question myself too long.
And the hardest part is
I still crave Him while struggling to reach Him.
I still look toward the sky
even while feeling spiritually tired.
Maybe that’s faith too though.
Maybe faith is not always fireworks and revelations.
Maybe sometimes faith looks like
still turning toward God
even when His voice feels distant.
Maybe He’s teaching me
how to seek Him without constant reassurance.
How to trust Him
without needing a sign every morning.
Because even now,
through confusion,
through emotional noise,
through all the versions of myself I’ve become…
there is still a part of me
that remembers exactly what His presence felt like.
And maybe the fact
that I still miss Him this deeply
means my soul still recognizes home.
Ashley Monae 