Muting the Noise to Hear God’s Voice: Lessons from Alaska

What a perspective-changer this vacation has been. It’s such a contrast to my normal routine of trying to stay on top of everything – of living at the mercy of a frantic schedule, the expectations of others, and my own self-imposed pressure to perform. Yes, I’m a bit of a perfectionist and a bit of a workaholic. And by “a bit” I mean “a lot.”

While my wife and I do our best to manage the family together, we often feel inadequate to the task. We’ve been dividing and conquering for years, but I feel like we are divided, too. In our rare together times we often feel exhausted, distracted. Our Sundays are just as busy, leaving us stretched thin and with too little attention for God and family.

But today, something is different. Here, under the shadow of the Alaskan mountains, all the stress and running around and trivial arguments have melted away. Stepping out of my life to take this Christian cruise brings a clarity I cannot find otherwise. Getting away is nice of course, but the worship songs and Bible teaching have brought me back to a former self I’d almost forgotten. I feel like I’ve been to summer camp. In Alaska.

This time of rest has helped me point my heart in the right direction again. I understand better why God instituted regular time away as a necessity for healthy living. Without it, I feel myself growing hard of hearing and unable to pick out His voice from the midst of everything else clamoring for my attention. Recognizing this is a strong step in the right direction for me and my family.

Out on the deck of our ship, the noise and the bustle that underlies my every waking moment has faded to a peaceful quiet. The open sea and morning breeze amplify the Psalmist’s adoration of God. Nature becomes God’s megaphone for passages like this one in Psalm 90:

Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world,
even from everlasting to everlasting,
thou art God. 

I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that Christian travel is a spiritual experience as well as a physical one. Without the clutter of daily life, the Scriptures actually sink into my conscious thoughts. The words From everlasting to everlasting, you are God awaken me to the idea of His existing long before all the beauty I can see. It’s a tiny God moment that resonates during the day as we stop in port to eat and shop and laugh together as a family.

How do I bring this clarity home with me? How do I mute the noise so I can hear God? This is the perspective I need every day, as a way of life, not just for one week of vacation every year. That’s when I realize it: I see and hear Him more clearly when I rest. In this moment I feel the Spirit nudging me to build more space and quiet into every day.

This isn’t as easy as it seems; it requires me to cut out things I love to make room for God and for my family. It’s painful to cut things away. But this is a challenging tearing-down-to-build-up-stronger, constructive kind of hurt. The deeper communion with God, with my wife and with my daughter are entirely worth it. The revelation has freed me in a way I didn’t expect.

This is, I’m learning, when God’s blessing comes – in the practice of daily obedience. I need focus to listen and a sense of quiet to hear His voice. But I have to be deliberate in creating that quiet, in training my ears. God is so much grander than the largest of the snow-covered mountains surrounding our ship. His glory reaches to the ends of the universe! How have I never listened – just listened – to this beauty before? Out here on the deck, in this moment, it’s all I can hear. I believe the life I return home to will be different as a result. I welcome the diligent change, just as I welcome another chance to see and hear God’s glory again. This might just be our new family tradition!