I talk to myself. A-LOT.
In the car. In the kitchen. Sometimes, even mid-walk, which gets me weird looks from people passing by. I talk with hand gestures. Sometimes with a British accent. I know, it’s a thing. And I do it.
It’s not always profound. Most of the time, it’s just thinking with sound.
Like, I think that if God made a sound when He walked, it would sound like flip-flops.
And that Jesus must love dancing, because why else would I be worshipping like a full gospel choir as I walk the dog?
Sometimes I’m laughing. Other times, I’m venting, questioning, praying without labeling it prayer. And I know—God hears it all. Which is comforting… until it’s not. Because now and then I wonder: isn’t He overwhelmed? Doesn’t all our chatter—from everyone, everywhere, all the time—get a bit much?
But here’s what quiets that worry: I remember that God isn’t like us. He’s not stuck in a group chat with the entire human race. He’s not a customer service rep juggling twelve calls at a time. He doesn’t need to set boundaries or mute notifications.
It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it?
That God hears every prayer—every thought—of every person on the planet, all the time, and never gets overwhelmed. Never tunes out. Never says, “I’ll get back to you.”
From our perspective, it seems impossible. Because we are bound by time. We can only focus on one conversation, one moment, one person at once. And even then, we often fail.
But God isn’t like us. He isn’t in time—He made time. Time is a created thing, like gravity or light. And God lives outside of it. He is not racing the clock. He isn’t aging. He isn’t multitasking. There is no "too much at once" for Him, because there is no "once" from His perspective.
We might say “God hears everyone at once,” but we have no words for what it’s like when God listens. “All at once” is the closest our time-bound brains can get to describing what it’s like to be heard by Someone who’s not bound by the clock, but “at once” is a time phrase, so it really doesn’t apply. Which is a bit like 1982-you holding a rotary phone and trying to imagine group texting — the words just don’t exist yet.
There’s no perfect analogy—but here’s one that helps me: You know how God doesn’t need to use the front door to get into your house? Well, He doesn’t need to use the timeline either. He’s not limited by walls or locks or clocks. He exists where He wants, how He wants—because He’s not bound like we are. He simply is—present, attentive, undistracted, everywhere, every when, always.
So when you talk to yourself, or pray out loud, or whisper a fear, or ramble through a hope—He hears you. And He doesn’t hear you the way we hear a single voice in a crowded room—straining, guessing, missing half the words. To Him, your voice is distinct, undiluted, never lost in the noise.
And when it comes to time? He has more than enough. In fact, He holds it all—every past regret, every present sigh, every future hope—in His hands. You’re never background noise. You are the conversation. You are the moment. So talk away—in the car, the kitchen, or mid-walk. Because to Him, it’s never too much, and it’s never missed.
Wow this so amazing! Just about the time I think I have God figured out, I am overwhelmed with His greatness and omniscience all over again.Thank you.😊