Half way through an epic summer missions experience in downtown Toronto, Canada, our struggling team felt ragged, strained, and exhausted. Our official ministry assignment never quite materialized, leaving us frustrated with almost nothing to do.
Part of our angst was undoubtedly fallout from some of the most intense spiritual warfare I’ve ever experienced. For more on that score, tune into my next post. I’m certain I wasn’t the only college student on our team that found himself wondering, “Why are we even here?”
Early one morning, I awoke to a supernatural stillness. My entire team was still sacked out on the floor around me, dead to the world. I’ve learned to relish the silence framing such moments, but as my head cleared, I had no premonition strong enough to prepare me for what happened next.
He spoke my name.
His voice was pure silver, tingling with a radiance only the glory of God could emanate. The single word shot right through me, rippling through my body, soul, and spirit as easily as Jesus walked through walls after his resurrection.
That’s all he said: Bradley. But it was enough. More than enough. God had spoken my name.
Summoned me. Affirmed me. Invited me. Commissioned me.
How this miracle shaped me
Hearing God’s audible voice shattered the box I’d put him in. It raised the bar of my faith into uncharted heights. And in the years to come, it became the benchmark for my journey as I learned to listen to God.
Because… and I really want you to get this… God’s voice within my heart, those truth ripples he speaks into my mind—they “sound” exactly like his audible voice did those many years ago.
Why wouldn’t they? They’re spoken by the same voice. The same Person.