Gambiaj.com – (BANJUL, The Gambia) – Every believer eventually enters a season when life feels loud with noise, yet the soul feels profoundly alone. This sense does not arise from a weakening of faith but from circumstances that make it seem as though God has gone silent. I have lived through such seasons. I have seen how people gather in corners, how plotters speak with confidence, and how bullies behave boldly when they believe someone stands alone.
In these moments, prayers are offered sincerely, yet they seem to return unanswered. A quiet, unsettling question rises in the heart: Has God forgotten me? Or has His silence become part of a story not yet revealed?
Looking back across my life, reflecting on the responsibilities I have carried and the trials I have faced, I have learned what only time can teach:
The seeming silence of God is never abandonment. It is preparation.
This pattern is not new. It echoes through the lives of those closest to Him and is not reserved for prophets alone. It unfolds in ordinary lives, often invisibly, yet it shapes us profoundly. Joseph, or Yusuf, was imprisoned despite his innocence.
Moses, or Musa, lived in exile with a calling he did not yet understand. Job, or Ayyub, endured a stillness that tested the core of his being.
Even Jesus, or Isa, prayed in deep anguish before His trial. In each instance, the heavens seemed silent, yet purpose was quietly unfolding.
The silence they experienced was not emptiness—it was divine craftsmanship.
In my own journey, I encountered something similar, though in humbler ways. Accusations traveled faster than truth. Decisions were made in rooms where I was absent. People who hardly knew me repeated stories they never questioned.
Others stepped back, not because they believed the rumors, but because staying close required courage. The emotional cost was real. I prayed earnestly, yet nothing seemed to change. The silence felt heavy and deeply confusing.
With time, understanding emerged. The silence had been protection. It had been separation. It had been preparation. What appeared to be a setback was, in truth, a redirection. What seemed like abandonment was simply the clearing of a path I would later need.
Faith traditions offer reassurance in such moments. The Qur’an teaches, “They plan, and Allah plans, and Allah is the best of planners” (Surah Al Anfal 8:30).
The Bible teaches, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Together, they affirm one truth: when God is silent, He is often doing His deepest work.
Sometimes plotters are allowed to continue, not to harm us, but to reveal themselves. Sometimes confusion is permitted, not to weaken us, but to refine us. Sometimes long nights are endured, not because dawn is denied, but because dawn will teach lessons that daylight alone cannot.
The seeming silence of God is where character strengthens and dignity deepens. It is where clarity grows. It is where we learn that integrity is not shaped by those who attack us, and our future is not decided by those who misunderstand us.
When the silence finally lifts—and it always does—meaning begins to surface. Pain reveals purpose. Waiting gains significance. Loneliness yields wisdom. We realize that preparation was taking place all along.
The seeming silence of God is not God stepping away. It is God working in ways we do not yet perceive, shaping a chapter that will one day illuminate all that came before, reminding us that even when He seems silent, His nearness may be at its closest.
