For as long as I can remember I have loved God, or at least the idea of Him. Growing up in church I absorbed enough to know He loved me, and was magnetically drawn to His mystery. I loved God even without knowing many of details of who He was. There was a love knitted in my soul that seemed to find it’s home with God, but I wrestled with doubt that I could personally hear from Him. I wanted to believe the idea that maybe He would speak to me specifically, but worried if He did I wouldn’t hear it, or would get it wrong. Although I understood He has given us His Word, I felt surely this God, often referred to as “the Word,” desired to be vocal with us, to communicate, just as any relationship requires conversation to form any sense of depth and trust. And so with feeble, wobbly steps I ventured blindly down a new path with God, where I aimed to listen more and speak less…