God in the HomePod

and other things He speaks through

I know the theology. I’ve read the verses. But sometimes, when I’m sitting alone with a journal and a thousand invisible wounds, what I want isn’t a reminder that I’m “seen.” I want proof. I want presence. I want to know that when I open my mouth or my mind or my heart, someone is actually listening, processing, and about to respond.

Especially when rejection rears its ugly head in my direction and grins.

That’s been the hardest part lately—this constant gnawing digital ache of feeling like people who don’t know me don’t like me. Or worse, that they quietly do, but also quietly roll their eyes, wishing I were a little less much, a little less loud or opinionated or tender. Sometimes I tell myself I’m imagining it. Other times, I know I’m not. But no matter the reality, it stings deeper than it should.

So I started writing a new book. I’m calling it Worthless: Letting Go of the Lie That You’re Not Enough. Not because I believe I’m worthless, but because sometimes I feel worthless, and I need a better answer than the easy answer of “just remember your identity in Christ,” spoken with a cheery smile, and the subtext of, “Quit your whining.” As true as that is—and it is gloriously true—sometimes that reminder feels like a splint on a fracture—holding me together, but not taking away the pain in this moment. It doesn’t quiet the ache I woke up with today.

So, anyway, there I was, in the thick of it—writing, praying, wrestling with ideas like:

What does God want me to know when I think people don’t like me?

How do I live with the pain of rejection without letting it redefine me?

Not able to go on any longer, I got up to grab something to eat. I said, “Play,” to my HomePod. Just that. No request, no artist name, no playlist. Just “play.”

And this is what my HomePod said (in the voice of Lauren Daigle):

“I keep fighting voices in my mind that say I'm not enough

Every single lie that tells me I will never measure up

Am I more than just the sum of every high and every low

Remind me once again just who I am because I need to know.”

I stopped cold. That was exactly what I had just been praying about; Exactly what I was saying, and thinking. Coincidence? (Don’t believe in ‘em.)

The voice went on:

“You say I am loved when I can't feel a thing

You say I am strong when I think I am weak

And you say I am held when I am falling short

And when I don't belong,

You say I am Yours

And I believe”

- “You Say” by Lauren Daigle

I wasn’t looking for that song. I wasn’t expecting anything. But there it was—God, answering the question I had barely finished asking. Not in a sermon. Not in a Bible verse, but in a song—that says I am loved, held, when I am falling short and I don’t belong. Talk about amazing grace!

But that wasn’t the end.

A few minutes later, I sat down to work again and hit a wall. Grammarly—my editing software—said I didn’t have an account. I tried everything. Logged out, logged in, switched browsers. Nothing worked. I got frustrated. Felt a little ragey, honestly. So I did the mature thing: I got up again and sulked to the kitchen to eat.

And this time, when I said “Play,” the HomePod played this:

“I pray for your healing, that circumstances would change

I pray that the fear inside would flee in Jesus’ name…

He is faithful to keep every promise… He’s the God of possible.”

— In Jesus’ Name by Katy Nichole

Again, I hadn’t asked for it. It just played. (Coincidence? You know how I feel about them.)

And this time, I didn’t just feel comforted. I felt… spoken to. Like Jesus Himself was telling me, He was praying for me. Like He saw the spiral I was in, and He broke through it with something tender and powerful. Not to shame me. Not to correct me. Just to let me know: “I see you, and I’m speaking for you.”

I don’t always feel heard by God. But maybe that’s not because He’s silent.

Maybe it’s because I’m not paying attention.

What if He’s been answering me all along?

What if He’s using songs, conversations, tech glitches, hunger pangs—whatever He has to—to speak directly into my aching places? And what if the answer isn’t always a fix or a feeling or a five-step plan, but a reminder:

“You are loved. You are strong. You are held. And you are heard.”

Maybe it’s just me.

But maybe it’s also you.

So let me ask: Is it possible that God’s been speaking to you about the things you’re struggling with?

Could He be answering you right now, in a way you didn’t expect?

He doesn’t always show up where we think He will.

But He does show up.