Called: The Weight and Wonder of a Prophetic Life.

A Reflection on the Prophetic Calling, Discernment, and Living Aligned with God's Voice.

There’s something mysterious and unexplainable about the moment God speaks to you—not just through Scripture, or in the stillness of prayer, but in a way that lands in your body with unmistakable force. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t force. It comes with clarity, like light cutting through a dark room. For me, prophecy often arrives like a sharp conviction that shoots through my senses, soul, and body at once. And yet, it always comes gently. That’s how I’ve learned to discern God’s voice: it never manipulates or pressures—it simply is, and when it speaks, it brings peace even in the middle of upheaval.

I’m writing this to reflect on what it means to live with the gift and calling of prophecy, especially when it doesn’t fit neatly into our expectations of spirituality or ministry. I want to speak plainly to those who are called, but unsure. I want to encourage believers who feel burdened by a gift they don’t yet know how to carry. And I want to challenge those in leadership to recognize that the fivefold ministry—apostle, prophet, evangelist, pastor, teacher—is not for a chosen few. It is a framework God gives to all believers for the equipping of the Church (Ephesians 4:11–13). Every believer has a part to play. The gifts of God are not exclusive—they’re assignments given for the good of the body.

And yet, not all assignments carry the same kind of weight.

Prophetic calling is heavy. It’s lonely. It often comes with misunderstanding, delayed fulfillment, or no fulfillment in the way people expect. In my own journey, I’ve often felt closest to the prophet Daniel. The book of Daniel tells us he was “sick for days” after receiving visions (Daniel 8:27). That detail, often overlooked, has always stayed with me. Here is a man entrusted with divine revelation—and it cost him physically. I understand that. I’ve struggled with health challenges, weakness, and what some might call a “frailty” in the body. But I’ve learned that God often chooses what looks weak to shame what is strong (1 Corinthians 1:27).

Daniel also lived in exile, surrounded by a culture that did not share his values. Still, he served, interpreted dreams, and interceded for others. He didn't chase power, but power came to him. He didn't claim titles, but he carried authority because of his obedience. That’s what resonates deeply with me. Prophets are rarely public figures by choice. We are often hidden, restrained by God, instructed to wait, or to speak just one word and let Him handle the rest.

We see examples of women called to this same prophetic role, even if they are rarely given much space in scripture. Miriam, the sister of Moses, is explicitly called a prophetess (Exodus 15:20). Deborah was both a prophet and a judge (Judges 4:4), trusted by the people and chosen by God to lead an army into victory. Huldah, another lesser-known prophetess, was consulted by King Josiah’s men when the Book of the Law was rediscovered (2 Kings 22:14–20). She delivered the word of the Lord with clarity and courage, and no one questioned her authority. And then there are the daughters of Philip (Acts 21:8–9), four unnamed women noted briefly in the New Testament as prophets. Though their stories aren’t detailed, their presence matters. They are there, recorded for all time—not because they were wives or mothers, but because they spoke for God.

These women remind me that God’s voice is not bound by gender, status, or visibility. He speaks through whom He chooses, and often it is the ones no one thought to ask.

Another truth I’ve come to understand: prophecy is not divination. It's not fortune-telling or the spiritual equivalent of guessing the future. It’s not about performance or prediction. Prophecy is revelation—God pulling back the veil so that we can see what He sees, and speak what He is doing. Sometimes it’s about foretelling. But often, it’s about forth-telling—speaking truth into the present moment to bring people into alignment with God’s heart. The purpose of prophecy is not always to predict events; sometimes it’s to test the heart of the hearer. God told Jonah to proclaim judgment over Nineveh, but when the people repented, God relented. Was Jonah a false prophet? No. The reaction was the fulfillment. God’s mercy was the goal. That’s something I’ve had to learn: the goal of prophecy is always obedience, not performance.

Living with a prophetic call doesn’t just affect your ministry—it affects your relationships, especially in areas like dating and marriage. This is something people don’t often talk about, but they should. You cannot yoke yourself to someone who isn’t deeply submitted to God and aligned with His purpose. Not because you’re better than anyone else, but because your calling demands clarity, unity, and spiritual sensitivity. An unequal yoke will not only weigh you down—it will dilute your hearing. And in the prophetic life, hearing clearly is survival.

This makes waiting necessary. It makes discernment essential. It often means loneliness. But it also means that when God does bring someone alongside you, it will be someone who understands not just how to love you, but how to protect the Word of God in you. That is sacred.

I’ve written this not as an expert, but as someone learning to live obediently. I don’t want to over-spiritualize what is often deeply human. There are tears, confusion, delays, and days where the voice of God feels painfully quiet. But there is also joy, clarity, beauty, and the quiet confidence that you are walking with God, even if no one else sees it.

If you are someone who feels the stirrings of the prophetic in your life—if you dream things that later happen, if you feel a burden for people you barely know, if you sense that God is speaking and you don’t know what to do with it—you are not strange. You are likely called.

And if you are a pastor or church leader reading this, I encourage you to look beyond charisma or loud gifting. Some of your most anointed prophets are sitting quietly, faithfully, waiting to be seen. You don’t need to manufacture them. You only need to make space for them.

This is only the beginning of what I want to share. But I pray this serves as a signpost: a reminder that the prophetic life is not glamorous, but it is holy. It is hard, but it is necessary. And above all—it is God’s. He alone assigns it, sustains it, and brings fruit from it.

And to those still waiting for clarity: take heart. He will speak again.