After his dramatic encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus, Paul did not immediately begin his public ministry. Instead, he entered a period of stillness and obscurity. Acts 9:9 tells us that for three days he was blind and did not eat or drink anything. During this time, Paul was not leading, teaching, or even speaking. He was entirely dependent on others to lead him, including those who had previously feared him.
This moment marked a profound shift in Paul’s identity. Formerly known for his zeal and religious authority, Paul was now silenced and stripped of the control he once exercised. He did not receive immediate clarity about his future. Instead, his first steps as a believer were marked by vulnerability and disorientation. He was not praised or affirmed by others. He was waiting, fasting, and confronting his need for a different kind of strength—one that did not come from his knowledge of the law or his previous accomplishments.
Paul’s early experience as a disciple was not one of outward triumph. It was a private descent into weakness, in which God began to rebuild him from the inside out. He had to let go of the persona he had crafted and surrender to a voice he had once persecuted. This period of waiting did not hinder his calling; it prepared him to receive it rightly.
Many people experience seasons that resemble Paul’s early days after his conversion. These are not defined by rebellion or spiritual failure, but by silence, uncertainty, and longing. Often, these seasons come after a major shift—something that interrupts your direction, your sense of purpose, or the way you have known yourself. In these moments, clarity does not arrive immediately. Activity slows. Motivation weakens. Even prayer may feel like a struggle.
This space can be disorienting, especially for those who are used to performing well, leading others, or feeling confident in their direction. When old strategies for control or affirmation stop working, it is tempting to interpret the silence as distance from God. But what may feel like a pause or setback is often the place where God is doing foundational work. Like Paul, you may be placed in a season where you cannot “see,” cannot “do,” and cannot explain exactly what God is doing.
Longing is not the absence of faith. It is often the beginning of deeper intimacy with God. When your usual forms of expression fall quiet, your need becomes more exposed. And in that exposure, you may find that what you most desire is not control or certainty—but closeness, security, and belonging.
You do not need to rush through this part of the journey. The ache itself may be the invitation.
Galatians 4:6 (NIV)
“Because you are his sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, ‘Abba, Father.’”
This verse from Galatians speaks directly to the tension that often arises in seasons of longing. It does not begin with a command or a requirement. It begins with a declaration: “Because you are his sons.” Identity is established before any action is taken. God does not wait for us to prove ourselves before drawing near. He sends His Spirit into our hearts as confirmation that we belong to Him.
The role of the Spirit in this passage is deeply personal. The Spirit does not offer an argument or a reminder. The Spirit cries out from within us. This is not a polished or theological appeal—it is a child’s cry. “Abba, Father” is a term of intimacy, not formality. It signals a relationship of nearness and dependence, not performance.
When we do not have the words, the Spirit speaks. When we do not feel worthy, the Spirit affirms our place. The presence of the Spirit is not earned by spiritual strength. It is given as a sign that we are already loved, already claimed, and already held.
This truth remains, even when we are in a season of silence or uncertainty. The Spirit is not limited by our clarity or confidence. His cry continues even when ours falters.
Belonging Is Spirit-Driven
At the center of the Christian life is not performance, but adoption. The gospel does not begin with our effort to reach God; it begins with God’s initiative to claim us as His own. Galatians 4:6 reminds us that our identity as children of God is not something we create or secure by striving. It is something God initiates and sustains through His Spirit.
This message is especially important in seasons of longing, when our ability to act or feel spiritually strong may be limited. In such moments, we often become aware of our need for connection, affirmation, and stability. But the answer to that need is not found in returning to our own strength. It is found in recognizing that the deepest confirmation of our identity comes from within, through the presence and voice of the Spirit.
The Spirit is not merely a theological concept. He is an active witness within us, calling out to the Father on our behalf. This cry—“Abba, Father”—is not forced. It arises naturally from the Spirit’s presence, even when our minds are filled with doubt or our emotions are unsettled. It means that our belonging to God does not depend on our ability to articulate it or feel it clearly. It depends on the Spirit’s faithful presence in us.
Spiritual maturity is not marked by constant certainty. It is marked by a growing trust that even in weakness, God holds us. Our belonging is secure because God has made it so—not because we always feel it or live it perfectly.
Let the Spirit Lead the Cry
If you are in a season where you feel disoriented or emotionally depleted, you are not outside of God’s care. You are not being punished or passed over. You may be in the very space where God is forming something deeper in you—a shift from identity based on clarity and control to identity based on relationship and presence.
You do not need to force a breakthrough. You do not need to manufacture a spiritual response. The Spirit of God is already present in you, crying out to the Father in a way that reaches beyond your words. You are not the one who secures your belonging; you are the one who receives it.
Let this season be one where you listen. Not for new instructions or a new identity, but for the cry that is already sounding within you. That cry—“Abba, Father”—is not weak. It is the strongest sign of your adoption. It is how the Spirit affirms that you are still His, even when you are unsure of yourself.
Rather than rushing to rebuild your confidence or redefine your purpose, allow yourself to rest in this truth: you are being held. Your longing is not the end of your story. It is the place where the Spirit begins to speak most clearly—not in your name, but in the name of the One who has claimed you.
Where in your life right now are you tempted to strive for clarity or control, when what you may need most is to be reminded that you are already chosen, already held, already heard?
Closing Prayer
Father,
In the quiet places where I feel uncertain or unseen, remind me that I belong to You.
Let Your Spirit speak in the places where my words fall short.
Teach me to trust the voice that cries “Abba” from within me—not as a concept, but as a comfort.
Help me to rest, not in what I can do, but in who You say I am.
Thank You for meeting me in my longing with love that never leaves.
Amen.
The Better Portion
Trade your distraction for devotion and your busyness for belonging, through scripture-centered reflections and questions.
