When the Noise Is Loud, Listen for God

There’s a moment from my earliest days I couldn’t remember—but I owe my life to it. Momma told me about it years later, after time and grace had softened me enough to truly hear it.

When I was a baby, something was wrong with my head—likely hydrocephalus. Fluid was building pressure on my brain, and the doctors warned that without surgery, I wouldn’t make it. The procedure was high-risk, and the stakes were sky-high. They told my parents, in no uncertain terms, that the surgery was my only shot at survival.

The night before the operation, my parents were supposed to take me to New Orleans. But something happened. Momma walked into the room and found my Dad rocking me in a chair, tears silently streaming down his face. She tried to reassure him—told him it would be alright. But he looked up and said he didn’t want to go through with it. He was afraid the surgery would kill me.

So he made the call.

No surgery.

And I lived.

That decision didn’t sit well with the doctor. In fact, he was furious. He told my parents they were gambling with my life. And when I survived anyway, he didn’t let it go. He despised my dad for that decision. Resented him for trusting something beyond what the charts and data said. But my dad wasn’t there to win the doctor’s respect—he was there to protect his son.

He didn’t cave to the pressure.

He didn’t get lost in the noise.

And that’s what saved me.

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The Noise Keeps Trying to Win

Let’s be honest—today, the noise is deafening. It’s everywhere. We’re drowning in opinions, outrage, and so-called “truth” that changes every ten minutes. The loudest voices aren’t the wisest—they’re just the most aggressive. We’re surrounded by narratives that twist good into evil and evil into virtue. It’s relentless.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” —Psalm 46:10
“The Lord was not in the wind… not in the earthquake… not in the fire… and after the fire, a still small voice.” —1 Kings 19:11–12

But you can’t hear that still, small voice when you’re plugged into the chaos 24/7. And that’s the danger. If you don’t intentionally silence the noise, it will silence you.

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My Dad Wasn’t Perfect—Neither Am I

I used to think I’d outdo my dad. Be a better man. A better father. A better example. But the older I got, the more I ran into the same weaknesses, the same temptations, the same failures.

“There is none righteous, not even one.” —Romans 3:10
“Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” —Romans 7:24–25

We all want to be better than the generation before us. And that’s not a bad thing. But pride convinces us we can do it alone. The truth? We’re all wretched apart from Christ. Flesh is flesh. Sin is real. And we all fall short—just in different ways.

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Grace Changed Everything

When I finally heard the story about my dad crying in that chair, it was too late to thank him. He had already passed. We were on good terms before he died, and I’m grateful for that. But I still wish I’d known. Wish I’d told him thank you—for saving my life, for trusting his gut, for being my dad.

That shift in my heart didn’t come overnight. It came when I met Leenie. She loved me differently. She loved my parents. They loved her. And through her, I learned how to love them better too.

“Honor your father and mother.” —Exodus 20:12
“Love covers a multitude of sins.” —1 Peter 4:8

Her love made me a better man. A better son. A better follower of Christ. Sometimes God doesn’t just heal your wounds—He sends someone to help you reopen them, clean them out, and finally let them heal the right way.

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I Miss Back Then

It wasn’t perfect, but it was quieter. There was more stillness. More clarity. You could sit with a hard decision and think. You could hear God without having to wade through 10,000 notifications and headlines. Back then, faith didn’t need a spotlight. Conviction didn’t require a hashtag.

“Stand by the roads and look; ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is, and walk in it, and find rest for your souls.” —Jeremiah 6:16

I miss back then—not because the times were better, but because the posture was better. The stillness. The trust. The faith that didn’t need the world’s approval.

Maybe it’s time we stop chasing what’s next and start recovering what we’ve lost. Maybe it’s time to get quiet again—so we can hear what actually matters.

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If you’re tired of the noise—get still. If you’re overwhelmed—listen for the whisper. If you feel too far gone—remember that grace doesn’t need perfection, just surrender.

I’m living proof that a quiet decision in a moment of faith can echo for a lifetime.

And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do… is not listen to the noise around you.