Episode 10 — Resonance

As I've learned to stay with God, I've begun noticing small moments that feel unexpectedly personal.

A song. A memory. A recurring theme. A question or longing that seems to be touched in just the right way.

Not necessarily answers.

Not certainty.

Just the feeling that something important has been noticed.

In this episode, I reflect on the experience of resonance—those moments that seem to meet us in places that already matter. A grief we've carried. A hope we've held quietly. A prayer we almost forgot we prayed.

Join me as we explore what it might mean when God's presence begins to feel personal, and discover how these moments can become gentle reminders that we are deeply known by the One who has never left us.

Music mentioned in this episode:
"Like a Child with Its Mother (Psalm 131)" featuring Caroline Cobb and Jess Ray.

More episodes, reflections, and information about my counseling practice can be found at:

desertstreams126.com/podcast

I'm glad you're here.

Season 1: Learning How to Stay With the One Who Never Leaves.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:01

Welcome back. If you've been here for a while, you've probably noticed that much of this season has been about learning to stay. Staying with ourselves, staying with our stories, staying with the things we'd rather avoid. And learning little by little to stay with God in the middle of it all. Over the last several episodes, we've talked about what begins to surface when we slow down and what it can look like to remain present when nothing seems to be changing. But today I want to reflect on something I've begun to notice. As I've learned to stay, I've started noticing small moments that feel uniquely personal. Sometimes they happen while I'm intentionally staying present or spending time with God. And sometimes they appear unexpectedly in the middle of an ordinary day. And when they do, they often leave me with that feeling that somehow I've been seen or heard. Not necessarily that I've received an answer. Not that everything suddenly makes sense. But just something that I've thought or prayed. Something that I've carried or I've wondered about has been noticed. Often think of these like inside jokes between me and God. Not necessarily because they're funny, but because they seem to come from a history that we've shared together. They carry meaning that probably wouldn't make sense to anyone else. I think that's part of why they feel so personal. They remind me that I'm known. In fact, as I was working on this, a song began playing in back in the background called Like a Child with Its Mother by Jess Ray. And I found myself smiling. Not because it proved anything, not because it answered any questions, but just because it felt like one more little reminder of the kind and gentle presence we've been talking about all season. That presence that doesn't rush us, it doesn't pressure, it doesn't demand anything from you. It just remains. As you sit here today, I wonder if you've experienced moments like that. Not moments that would convince anyone else. Not anything you need to explain or defend. Just something that caught your attention. Something that felt intimately personal. Something that seemed to meet you right where you are. And if nothing comes to mind right now, that's okay. This isn't something we create. It isn't something you force. It definitely isn't something you earn. I wonder what it is that makes those moments feel so personal. Maybe it's a verse that seems to keep finding its way back to you. Or a song that arrives at just the right time. Maybe a recurring image or some theme that keeps catching your attention. Just notice what comes up for you. Could be a memory that feels significant in a new way. Or a longing you've carried quietly for years. Maybe it's a question that you've been living with that somehow gets touched, not necessarily answered, but maybe just a feeling of acknowledgement, not certainty. Just the feeling that something important to you has somehow been noticed. And perhaps that's why these moments stay with us. Not because they're dramatic, but because they seem to touch places that already matter. Maybe a loss, a longing, or a memory, maybe something we've been carrying for a long time. And when those places are unexpectedly touched, we might find ourselves smiling or crying. Or just simply stopping to pay attention. Not because we've figured out what it means, but because something inside us recognizes that it matters. Not by striving or even trying to figure ourselves out, but just through the experience of being known. Perhaps we begin seeing ourselves a little differently. Maybe because we're slowly learning how he sees us. Maybe that's part of what these little moments are doing. Not simply reminding us that God is present, not only reminding us that he knows us, but gently inviting us to trust the one who knows us so completely and might see us more clearly than we see ourselves. Maybe that's a reflection for another day. But maybe it begins here with the simple realization that you are known. Maybe part of learning to stay with the one who never leaves is discovering that he has been paying attention all along. Not only to your circumstances, but to you. Not because God has suddenly become near, but because we're beginning to recognize the one who has been with us all along. I'll meet you next time.