There are times when being a Christian feels amazing, and then there are the other times. You pray, and it feels like you're talking to the ceiling. You sit through worship on Sunday morning, but your heart isn't really in it. You open your Bible, read the same verse four times, and realise you've taken in absolutely nothing. You might as well have been reading the terms and conditions on your car insurance.

You still believe. You still love Jesus. But God feels distant. Perhaps you've even found yourself asking, "God, where are you?"

Well, before we go any further, let's establish something important. God's love for you isn't measured by how close you feel to Him.

Christians love saying this. It sounds great. But there’s a fairly obvious question we don’t always answer.

What does having a relationship with God actually mean?

I have a relationship with my wife. We talk. We spend time together. She answers when I ask her a question. I can see her face and usually tell what she’s thinking.

God is different.

I can’t see him. I can’t tell you I’ve ever heard an audible voice. I can pray, “God, what should I do?” and there isn’t usually an immediate response booming through the ceiling.

Yet Christians constantly talk about “walking with God,” “hearing God,” “knowing God” and “having a personal relationship with Jesus.”

So what are we actually yapping about?

People can sometimes talk as though becoming a Christian magically changes life’s difficulty setting from Nightmare to Easy. As if, when you give your life to Jesus, the birds start singing and every parking space you need becomes available. The trouble is, Jesus never promised Easy mode.

Life before Jesus is hard. Life with Jesus is hard too. Following Christ does not remove every temptation or painful Thursday afternoon. In some ways, it reveals battles you did not know needed fighting. I was talking about this recently with a guy from church when a sentence came out of his mouth that I have not been able to shake:

“It’s a battle, but it’s a better battle.”

A while ago, I wrote an article called God Doesn’t Need, You But He Wants You based on a song I’d written called You Don’t Need. It was about a truth I find both deeply humbling and wonderfully freeing: God doesn’t need us, but He absolutely wants us.

Today, I felt compelled to reflect on another one of my songs. This one’s slightly older. I wrote it just under a year ago, and it’s called Let the Father Speak (Listen Here).

The song came out of something I’ve had to learn and re-learn more times than I’d care to admit: I am very good at asking God to speak while simultaneously making it almost impossible for me to hear Him.

I can pray, “Lord, would You speak to me?” and then give the Creator of the universe approximately twelve seconds before checking my phone. Nothing yet, Lord? Fair enough. Instagram it is.

But Let the Father Speak isn’t really a song asking a reluctant God to say something. It’s about learning to quiet a noisy, striving heart long enough to listen. Because God has always been a speaking God.

One of the ways I worship is through writing, this blog, sermons and occasionally songs. I’ve been working on this song recently (Listen Here), and the main idea has been quietly messing with me.

God doesn’t need ANYTHING from me, not my service or my worship. He doesn’t need my money, my prayers, my surrender, my good decisions, my hands in the air, or even the songs I sing to him.

Which, on the face of it, sounds like possibly the least encouraging worship song ever written.