Heyllo it is me Tyler!!
This month has been both hard and beautiful — a mix of failure and grace — and yet, looking back, I can honestly say it was amazing overall. There were moments at work when I failed more times than I’d like to admit. But even in those moments, I felt God teaching me how to rise again, how to choose growth over guilt. I can’t explain it, but there’s an odd kind of honor in failure when you know it’s shaping your faith. When God places something in my lap that causes me to stumble, I’ve learned to bless Him for the lesson hidden inside it.
This past week, God showed me just how distracted I’d become. My days were filled with noise — friends, music, Netflix, endless scrolling. The only time He could get my attention was when I finally laid my head down at night. It made sense why I couldn’t fall asleep some nights; even in the quiet, I’d still reach for my phone and scroll through TikTok until my eyes grew heavy.
Then came a Tuesday — the day God let me mess up.
At work, I was moving too fast and almost sent several schools the wrong information, something that could’ve caused a major setback. I left feeling frustrated, disappointed, and weighed down with self-blame. To make things worse, Google Maps decided to take me through an hour and ten minutes of bumper-to-bumper traffic on my way home — a route I never usually take.
Music is my usual comfort when I’m upset — my way of drowning out emotion. But that day, my phone wouldn’t connect to my car (it had been giving me issues all week). Every failed connection only made my frustration worse. Finally, I gave up and sat in silence for the entire drive home.
And somehow… that silence changed everything.
It felt strange at first, but also freeing. To simply sit with my thoughts — to breathe the air of stillness — felt like a gift from God. I didn’t realize how much I needed it until that moment. The silence gave me space to redirect my thoughts toward Christ and actually talk with Him. It was like catching up with an old friend I hadn’t sat down with in a while. (I talk to Jesus every day, but not like that — not for that long.)
Looking back now, I see exactly what He was doing. That detour, that broken Bluetooth connection — it wasn’t random. God was leading me into silence, away from distractions, straight into His presence. And that car ride became sacred ground.
Since then, I’ve started driving in silence more often. And you’d be amazed what a little silence can uncover. I’ve begun rediscovering parts of myself that had been buried under the noise — the curious, thoughtful, even silly parts. I’ve started asking deeper questions again. Listening more. Not just to myself, but for the still, quiet voice of God.
That night, after I got home, I sat in my car replaying the whole day. Half of it was spent scrolling, half in silence. And as I talked with God, He placed an image on my heart — one I’ll never forget:
“Tyler, did you not hear My calls?”
I replied, “No, Father, I didn’t.”
“Son, I’ve been calling you for days now, but you haven’t answered.”
“But Father, I’ve been on my phone this whole time — how could I have missed Your calls?”
And He said, “You’ve been distracted by all the noise in your life. The only time I can speak is when you lay your head down to rest. Do you not hear the phone ringing? It’s right next to you. The reason you can’t hear it is because of the other noise — if you would only turn it off, you’d hear Me calling.”
That conversation hit me like a gentle but piercing truth. I had been tuned into the wrong frequency, listening to the wrong conversation. God had been calling all along — I just wasn’t quiet enough to hear.
Now I understand why Jesus often withdrew to pray alone. He needed silence to be with His thoughts, to be sober-minded in a noisy world. And doesn’t God call us to the same? “Be still, and know that I am God.” To rest our worries on His shoulders and take the weight off our chests. For His yoke is easy and His burden is light (Matthew 11:28–30).
God reminded me this week that I don’t have to fight my battles alone. I will fail again — many times, probably — but He’ll be right beside me, ready to lift me up. The question is: will I be quiet enough to hear Him calling my name?