Over recent days I have been returning to a simple but demanding question. How do we know when to speak, and how do we know when to remain quiet. Not silence born of fear or withdrawal, but restraint shaped by obedience. As I look back now, I can see that this question did not suddenly appear. God was already speaking to me about it in mid-November, though I did not yet have the language to recognise it for what it was.
At that time, my understanding of congruence was shaping much of how I listened. I was attentive to alignment between words, actions, and inner truth, and that framework was helpful and faithful as far as it went. What I can now see, with the benefit of time and prayer, is that God was using that very framework to lead me somewhere deeper. He was already drawing me toward obedience that rests not only on inner alignment, but on trust in His voice even when that voice leads beyond my immediate understanding.
This has become clearer as I have been reading 1 Kings 13, the account of the man of God who was sent with a clear word from the Lord and a clear instruction about how to carry it. He obeyed faithfully until another prophet spoke to him, claiming spiritual authority and angelic confirmation, and persuaded him to do the very thing God had told him not to do. The story unsettles because the man of God was not ignorant. He already knew what the Lord had said. He chose to trust another voice over the word he had received himself.
What strikes me now is not only the danger of deception, but how easily obedience can be displaced by something that still sounds reasonable, spiritual, and even congruent. The older prophet’s words were coherent. They fit a narrative. They made sense relationally. Yet they did not come from God. This is where my earlier reflections on congruence now meet a deeper truth. Alignment within ourselves is important, but it is not the same as obedience to God’s revealed word.
Around the same period in November, two reflections emerged quietly in my work and reading. One grew out of a counselling session and later became the piece I called Tangled and Untangled. The other arose while reading Ecclesiastes again, wrestling with its honesty and its insistence that life only finds its meaning when lived before God. Both reflections came with peace. At the time, I received them as thoughtful, integrated insights. I can now see that they were also part of God teaching me to trust what He gives, even before I understood where He was leading.
What followed was subtle. I noticed an impulse to second guess myself, not because anything felt wrong, but because I wondered how others might receive what I had written. Would they object. Would they misunderstand. Would they criticise. Looking back, I can see that this was the very place God was already addressing. The correction that has become clear to me now was already present then. Trust the words I give you. If correction is needed, I will bring it. Do not surrender what I have given you to someone else’s reaction.
Alongside this, another instruction has continued to grow more distinct. Speak little. Not as avoidance, and not as fear, but as discipline. Not every truth needs voicing. Not every difference needs naming. Not every tension needs resolving. There is a maturity that comes from restraint, from learning to remain peaceful without managing outcomes. This too was present in November, though I can see it more clearly now.
These two movements belong together. Speak little, and speak only what is given. Do not rush to correct, and do not shrink back when the Lord has already spoken. Silence shaped by obedience is very different from silence shaped by hesitation, just as speaking from obedience is very different from speaking to fill space or defend position.
This has become especially alive for me in family life, where differences of view exist and old habits tempt us to manage conversations carefully. What I am learning is that peace does not come from careful control, but from presence. When we stop trying to align everything outwardly and instead remain anchored inwardly in God, words become fewer, listening becomes deeper, and love does its quiet work.
As this year draws to a close, I find myself grateful for the way God speaks ahead of our awareness. He was already teaching me in November what I am only now able to name. That gives me confidence. Not in my own clarity, but in His faithfulness.
May the Lord teach us when to speak, when to wait, and how to recognise the difference. May our words be few, and may they be true.
“Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, O LORD, my strength and my Redeemer.” — Psalm 19:14 (NKJV)
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