Sometimes we plead with the Lord for a specific answer… and it does not come as we expected, or it seems to never come at all.
There are moments when heaven seems silent. And that silence can become difficult—a burden—especially when our strength fails.
During an assignment, I shared a meal with marvelous young adults preparing to lead FSY and learned a lesson I will not forget.
A young man with a gift for music told me that sometimes he asks the Lord for guidance and does not find a clear answer. So, even with uncertainty, he moves forward in faith, trying to do the best he can. Those “heavenly silences” can be difficult; we can feel lost or think that God is not listening.
He continued by saying that one day he understood something: in music, rests are not a mistake; they are part of the music. They give shape and meaning to the piece. Without pauses, there is no breathing and no shape; without them, there is no melody. And he felt that, in the Lord’s “music,” some silences also have a purpose: they are included in a greater work.
The Lord Himself teaches that His way of speaking is not always dramatic. In Elijah’s experience, we learn that the Lord was not in the strong wind, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but in a “still small voice”(1). Sometimes there is even a pause. And in that space, the Lord can be shaping something in us: humility, patience, trust.
But silence does not mean we are forsaken.
In Isaiah we read: “I will not forget thee… I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands”(2). And in Hebrews the Lord confirms: “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee”(3). God does not love people “in general.” He loves His children one by one, and He knows the details of our lives and the desires of our souls.
That is why the Book of Mormon speaks of “the tender mercies of the Lord”(4). They are small—but real—reminders the Lord sends to say, “I am here.” Sometimes they do not come as an immediate solution, but as support: confirmation, light that turns hope on again.
Someone very special to me shared a recent experience. After a long time of “heavenly silences,” holding on to faith had become difficult. One Sunday she didn’t want to attend church, but she chose to follow her inner voice and take one step: to be present, even if her faith was “small.”
And there, in something simple and almost ordinary, the Lord gave her a tender mercy. She watched a young man with significant challenges pass the sacrament, helped by the care and unconditional love of his father. Nothing spectacular. Nothing big. But it was a clear and personal message—as if heaven spoke to her in her own “spiritual language” to say, “I am here. I see you. I know how you feel. I love you.”
Here is the central point: those tender mercies are not by chance. They are signs of love made possible through the Atonement of the Savior Jesus Christ.
Sometimes we speak of the Atonement only in terms of forgiveness, and it is that—gloriously. But the Atonement is also enabling power: power to endure, to rise, to persevere, and to try again.
Alma taught this clearly: the Savior took upon Himself “pains… afflictions… [and] temptations” so that He would “know according to the flesh how to succor his people”(5). Succor is help now, at the right moment, in the specific way He knows we need. The Lord does not always remove the burden immediately, but He does promise: “I will… make your burdens light… that ye may know… that I… do visit my people in their afflictions”(6).
If you are living a heavenly silence and waiting for an answer that does not come with clarity, do not give up. Do not confuse a pause with an absence.
Sometimes silence is part of the Lord’s music. And even then, He continues to write mercies in the details—some so personal that only our hearts understand. And that does not make them less real; it makes them more sacred.
Because the Savior Jesus Christ does not limit Himself to speaking. He succors. He sustains. He remains with us.
I testify that His Atonement is real and sufficient, not only to cleanse us, but to strengthen us when we have no strength left. I know that Heavenly Father does not forget His children. I know He is in the details. And I know by personal experiences, that even when heaven seems silent, the Savior is still working—sometimes in a language so personal that only we understand. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Footnotes
- 1 Kings 19:11–13
- Isaiah 49:15–16
- Hebrews 13:5
- 1 Nephi 1:20
- Alma 7:11–12
- Mosiah 24:14–15