💭 God’s Voice – The Quiet Knowing

People often ask me, “How do you know it’s really God speaking to your heart?”  It sounds like a simple question—but it’s also incredibly hard to answer.  Still, let me try to explain it… carefully, thoughtfully, and in my own voice.

I was born and raised in the Soviet Union—a deeply atheist country, where even attending church could land you in prison alongside common criminals. If someone was suspected of being a “Baptist” (which was how they labeled all believers, regardless of denomination), they might be denied a job, or admission to a university. In short: everything possible was done to make people afraid of speaking about God.

Until I was 16, I grew up in a typical Soviet family. While we lived in Siberia, my dad worked as an electric train operator, and my mom worked at a factory that made concrete panels for housing construction on the BAM railway. No one in our home ever talked about God—neither good nor bad. We just lived our lives.

But my father’s mother—my grandmother—was a believer. She wasn’t ashamed to read her Bible, to pray, or to attend a tiny Pentecostal church. She wasn’t afraid of being arrested. She always trusted God, no matter what.

When we visited her during summer break, she never forced us to come to church with her or to read the Bible or to pray. She simply invited us—gently, lovingly—to join her.

I often went with her to church. Not because I was curious about what they were saying, but because I wanted to understand why my grandmother was so kind, so calm, so patient—even though life had not been easy for her. And even though we grandkids often caused her a lot of stress.

I was a curious child. As soon as I learned to speak, I bombarded the adults with questions like, “Where does the wind come from?” or “Why don’t we understand what dogs are barking about?”

Most of my questions were aimed at my dad, and eventually, when I was five, he taught me to read. I started reading everything I was allowed to borrow from the library. I read constantly—even under the covers at night with a flashlight.

I wanted to know how the world worked, where humans came from, how everything came to be around us.

From my grandma, I had heard that there is a God who created this world—for us. But I didn’t take her seriously, because all the books I read said that everything had come through evolution. Still, I never argued with her. I just listened… and quietly thought, “Well, scientists probably understand how the world works better than Grandma does.”

Time went on. I kept reading. I also spent hours watching the natural world: how ants build their hills, how clouds float by and shift into strange shapes. In those clouds, I saw characters from my books, drawn by my imagination.

But the older I got, the more I felt that something was missing inside me.  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was as if there was a room in the center of my heart—and it was empty.  I imagined my heart as a big house, with many rooms where loved ones lived. But right in the center of that house was one room that remained hollow. That emptiness wouldn’t leave me alone.

I was a very enthusiastic little Soviet citizen—an “Oktyabryonok,” then a Pioneer, then a Komsomol member. Let me explain that, especially for those unfamiliar with life in the USSR.

The Soviet Union was ruled by the Communist Party, which tightly controlled education and ideology. From a very young age, we were taught that God did not exist—that religion was just a fairy tale for uneducated people.

In Soviet schools, there were ten grades. Around age 7, children were initiated into “Oktyabryata”—named after the October Revolution.  At age 9–14, you could become a Pioneer (similar to Scouts but with strong ideological messaging).  Then from 14–28, you could join the Komsomol—the Communist Youth League.

In first grade, on November 7 (the Day of the Socialist Revolution), I was accepted as an Oktyabryonok. In third grade, I was admitted early into the Pioneers—on Lenin’s birthday, April 22—for excellent grades. At 14, I proudly joined the Komsomol.

I wore my pins and red scarf with pride. I truly believed in the ideals of socialism and communism.  I wanted to help the Party build a better world, where every person was a comrade and a brother.

And since communism taught that religion was “the opium of the people”, we were expected to fight those “superstitions.”  I did my best. I followed the rules.  But the more I learned about the world… the more questions I had. And the more I felt that empty room in my heart.

When I visited Grandma during summers, I would hear her pray.  She would talk to God like He was right there at the table with her, having tea.

She prayed about her children, her grandchildren, their struggles, her concerns.  She wasn’t performing. She wasn’t reciting.  She was simply speaking from her heart. And as a child, I watched and listened.

From her prayers, I picked up a few things: the Lord’s Prayer, and her frequent plea for “the blood of Jesus to protect us.”  I didn’t understand what she meant. I knew nothing about theology or the significance of Jesus’ death.  But I figured: if Grandma prayed that way, there must be a reason.

When I was little, I had a recurring nightmare—a terrifying one. It came every April, for years. After the second year, I started dreading April altogether. The dream repeated until I turned 8.

By then, I had memorized some of Grandma’s words. So one night, lying in bed, I said aloud:

“The blood of Jesus Christ protect us from all harm,” and then I recited the Lord’s Prayer.

Nothing dramatic happened. No thunder. No earthquake.  Just a quiet knowing in my heart:

“Sleep peacefully. Everything will be alright.”

That was the first time I felt what I now call the quiet knowing.  Not a voice. Not a thought. Just a gentle, unmistakable certainty—and peace.

And I fell asleep.

From that point on, I began trusting that quiet knowing more and more.  Whenever it came—I followed. And it never led me wrong.

Am I saying that you can sin knowingly, then just pray and expect everything to be great?  No. I’m not talking about excusing bad behavior.  I’m talking about the times in life when we truly don’t know what to do.

I wish I was a poet or a great philosopher, then I would find the right words to explain exactly what I mean by saying “a quiet knowing.” I am just a regular person, who noticed that when you obey that quiet knowing – everything falls into its place. And when you disobey – your life crumbles. I also believe that our conscience is one of the ways God speaks to us.  Even those who don’t believe in Him still hear that inner voice.

For years, I jokingly referred to the quiet knowing as “the voice in my head.” But again—it’s not a voice. It’s not even a thought.  It’s just… knowing.  And when it comes, it brings peace. A deep peace, like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

I know that’s when I can trust it.

Years flew by. Many times I had this quiet knowing. In simple everyday things. In big life-impacting decisions. But the most important event in my life happened later.

The day I met Jesus personally, I felt that same quiet knowing again: “Your time has come. Go.”

So I did. I walked to the front of the church—yes, in front of everyone—and asked Jesus to come into my heart as my Savior, my Lord, and my Friend.

And right at that moment, the emptiness inside me disappeared.  He, Who I was searching for my whole life, came into my heart. That room in the center of my heart—the one that had always been vacant—was no longer empty.  It has been filled.

(That story of how I gave my heart to Jesus deserves its own chapter someday. I’ll share it one day, too.)

Here’s a more recent example.  Before moving to Arizona, we lived in Washington State for 14 years. We had a house in a decent—but not great—neighborhood, which had become crowded with homeless encampments in recent years.

In 2021, we weren’t even thinking about Arizona.  Some of our friends had moved there a few years earlier and kept inviting us to visit. We always said, “Yes, yes, someday we’ll come”—but deserts weren’t really our thing.

Then, in November, those same friends said, “We want to use our airline miles to get you tickets. Come visit us!”  Now we had no excuse, but to fly to Arizona in December.

From the moment we arrived in Arizona, we both felt: This is our place. We’re supposed to live here.

When we got home, we prayed. We told Jesus about our trip, about how much we liked it, and how we’d love to move there.  But we said, “Only if this is Your will. We don’t want to go anywhere unless You want us there.”

And then… the quiet knowing:

“List your house and move to Arizona. Everything will be okay.”

Now begins the fun part.

Our realtor suggested we list the house for $475K. According to him, that was already a stretch, considering the age and location.

We immediately had a flood of buyers—but all their offers were low. After a week of this madness, my husband and I sat down and calculated how much money we actually needed after all the fees and taxes.

We wanted to put down 20% on the next home to avoid PMI.  Plus, we needed funds for the move and to live on until we found work. When we totaled it all up, we realized: “We need to sell the house for at least $570K.”

Sounds insane, right?

We wrote it all down on a piece of paper and brought it to God.  We said, “Lord, this is the amount we need. You know our hearts. If this move is from You, we’re trusting You.”

Again, that quiet knowing:  “Raise the price to $570K.”

When we told our realtor, he said we were crazy.  Friends thought we’d lost our minds.  But we stood firm—because we knew what God had said.

The listing went up at $570K. And then… we got an offer for $575K. The house sold within two months and we moved to Arizona.

Here’s another one.  We had been sleeping on the same mattress for years.  It was so old, you could feel the springs poking through.  But we didn’t have the money to replace it—not even secondhand.

One night, I was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep.  A stubborn spring was digging into my back.

I thought, “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a new mattress someday? Oh well… one day, maybe.”

And once again—that same quiet knowing:

“Sleep peacefully. Everything will be okay.”

The next day, I saw a post on Facebook from some friends:

“We bought a new mattress online, but they sent us the wrong one.  First person to come get it can have it.”

The post had been up for almost two days. I thought, “It’s probably gone by now.”

But then—again—that nudge:  “Message them.”

So I did.

And that’s how we got a brand new mattress—exactly when we needed one.  Just another little reminder that God hears us. Even when we whisper.

One more. Okay, okay, I promise—this is the last one.  I know I’m rambling, but I did warn you this might turn into a long story.

By the time I turned 17, we were living in Ukraine. My birthday is in the fall—and in Ukraine, that means no snow. At all.

As a girl who grew up in Siberia, I really missed snow. That fluffy, white, magical kind.

So the night before my birthday, I prayed:  “Jesus, You know how much I love snow. And how much I miss it.  Please… let there be snow in the morning.  Maybe… 20 centimeters?  It can melt by the afternoon. That’s okay.”

The weather forecast showed no snow for at least a month.

But again—the quiet knowing:  “Sleep peacefully. Everything will be okay.”

The next morning, I woke up to see a white wonderland outside.  Everything was covered in fresh, fluffy snow.

I grabbed a ruler.  Exactly 20 centimeters.

And by afternoon? It melted.

Believe it—or don’t. That’s your choice.  But I’ve had too many moments like this in my life to ever doubt: God is real. He sees everything. He hears everything.

Even about snow.

But over the years I’ve come to understand  when something does not happen right away, it’s not because God is not listening.  It’s because He is preparing the way.  You are waiting for a job – but someone else is still in that role.  They need to leave first.  Then position needs to open.  You need to apply.  Everything has to fall into place.  And when the time is right, a door will open – one that no one can shut.

I am not saying that having that quiet knowing is the only way to hear God’s voice in your life.  No.  This is how Lord Jesus Christ talks to me personally.  With you it might be in some other way.  I believe that God has His own ways of communicating with each person, because just like in a family, we are all unique and all are His children.  You just need to start talking to Him personally, as if you are talking to your best friend.  And He WILL answer.  I have no doubts about that.

Alright, enough stories for today. Otherwise, I can talk about God’s miracles in my life all day long.

Take care of yourself.  And I’ll see you again somewhere out there—in this vast and wonderful internet world.

💭 That’s my kitchen table rambling for today.
Maybe I’m overthinking it… or maybe — not.
Share your thoughts — let’s figure it out together.