How can I know when it is God who is speaking to me?
I figured that I did something bad, something wrong, not to be seeing things. I tried hanging at home more; maybe He had been calling while I was out. I said extra prayers in case there was a prayer quota to meet before you were let in. I gave extra in the offering plate, hoping my generosity would speed up the process. I even dragged myself to a tent revival, but I couldn't go down the aisle to the screaming, baptizing evangelist because I wasn't seeing lights or hearing voices or feeling the spirit. I stopped listening for God's call and stopped waiting for a flying Jesus.
Instead of a holy transmission over some intergalactic PA system or that flying Jesus calling out to me in a stopped moment of time, I finally heard God's call swell up from a forgotten place, inside me. After all the waiting and wanting, the voice that called was my voice, soft and weak, crackly and unsure, hesitant and afraid. I knew this forgotten voice was indeed God's because it rose above the noise around me—the noise of our culture's dos and don'ts and shoulds, the noise of my making plans and controlling situations, the noise of others saying who was Christian and who was not.
I knew that it was God speaking to me because I could hear myself call back and my spirit became light. Years of heaviness were lifted from me. The burdens of doing the right thing, of being chosen, of forcing my way down a path ceased, and I was stilled. A new yet wobbly courage started to live in me, and I became comfortable in my own skin, in my own circumstances. I felt safe and certain and grateful. Nothing around me had changed, but everything was different.