Silent Truths

Searching for the Unseen

I wake up.

I pray.

I talk to the air.

I bow my head and whisper my thoughts to someone I cannot see, cannot hear, cannot touch. My hands rest on my lap, empty of anything tangible, no divine grip reaching down to hold them. My eyes remain closed, but when I open them, the world looks the same as before.

No visible light. No resounding voice. No face staring back at me.

And so, the thought creeps in: What am I talking to?

The allusiveness of it all—it presses on me. It sits heavy in my mind. This invisible God, this silent presence. This Being that I’m told is always with me, yet never stands before me. Why?

Human Need for the Visible

I realize that mankind was not made for the unseen.

Everything in my existence depends on my senses—

I trust what I can see,
I believe in what I can touch,
I understand what I can hear,
I follow what I can feel.

And yet, God does not bow to my demands for sensory proof.

I am told to “walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7)—but faith in what? Faith in words? Faith in stories passed down? Faith in a book filled with accounts of people who saw what I never will?

Where is the God of Moses? The One whose presence caused the mountains to tremble, whose voice was like thunder, whose glory was so terrifying that even the holiest man in Israel had to be shielded from its full weight (Exodus 33:20-23).

Moses—even he was denied the fullness of God’s face.

“You cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.” – Exodus 33:20

If the greatest prophet of Israel could only glimpse the train of God’s glory as He passed by, what hope do I have of ever seeing Him?

God in Tangible Form

But then, I remember—there were moments. Moments when God did show Himself, when the unseen crossed into the realm of the seen.

The first clue comes in the Garden—not with visible form, but sound.

“They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day…” – Genesis 3:8

He walked there, but Adam and Eve did not see Him—only heard Him. A presence, a movement, something unseen but undeniably there.

And then later, we see the “Shekinah” Glory.

This was when God’s presence visibly manifested:

• A cloud by day and fire by night guiding Israel in the wilderness (Exodus 13:21).
• A consuming fire on Mount Sinai as He gave the law (Exodus 24:17).
• Glory filling the tabernacle and temple, so overwhelming that the priests could not stand (2 Chronicles 7:1-2).

But even then—no face, no form, just fire, cloud, and blinding light.

And I think about the Ark of the Covenant—the place where His presence “dwelt,” but was too dangerous to touch.

“Uzzah reached out and took hold of the ark of God, because the oxen stumbled. The Lord’s anger burned against Uzzah because of his irreverent act; therefore God struck him down, and he died there beside the ark.” – 2 Samuel 6:6-7

His presence frightened. His power was untouchable.

Even the holiest of men trembled before the presence that rested above the mercy seat of the Ark.

Different Kind of Presence

But then, something changed.

The fire, the cloud, the blinding radiance—where did they go?

When Israel lost their way, the Shekinah Glory departed from the temple (Ezekiel 10:18-19). No longer would God’s presence reside in one place, contained in an ark, behind a veil.

Instead, it would move in a different way—not as a visible form, but as wind.

“The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” – John 3:8

The Spirit of God moved differently now. Unseen, unpredictable, elusive—just like the wind in Genesis 3:8, just like the rushing wind of Pentecost in Acts 2:2.

God had shifted His presence from external to internal.

And maybe that’s why I struggle.

Because I want to see Him, and He is now within.

Why Elusive?

If He revealed Himself in fire and cloud before, why does He remain unseen now?

I wrestle with this question—why does God make Himself so hard to grasp?

And then I realize: He is not like me.

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways,” declares the Lord. – Isaiah 55:8

If God were visible, tangible, measurable, mankind would reduce Him to something explainable.

We would analyze Him, break Him down, probe Him, attempt to control Him.

We would study Him like a specimen, debate His composition, dissect His essence.

And that is why He remains elusive.

He is not a thing to be measured—He is the Creator of measurement.
He is not a being to be understood—He is the source of all understanding.
He is not bound to our senses—because He created them.

His hiddenness is intentional. His allusiveness is a design.

And so the search for Him is part of the plan.

“You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart.” – Jeremiah 29:13

“He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.” – Hebrews 11:6

Faith in Midst of Silence

I still wake up.

I still pray.

I still talk to the air, to the unseen, to the One who never appears before my eyes.

But I understand now.

His allusiveness is not a rejection. His silence is not abandonment.

He remains hidden because He is greater than what I could ever comprehend.

And yet, He is not absent.

He is the wind that moves through the trees,
the whisper in my spirit,
the unseen presence that has always been there,
waiting to be found, but never reduced.

And so I keep searching.

Because He is not a God to be held, contained, or analyzed.

He is a God to be pursued.

And Truth changes everything.