How Do I Know What Decision God Wants Me to Make?

Christians often ask a very sincere question when facing a decision:

How do I know if this is God’s voice or my own?

We pray. We wait. We look for direction. We may ask God to open or close doors, look for peace about one choice or another, or ask other Christians what they think. We want to make the right decision because we sincerely want to remain in God’s will.

But before asking how to recognize God’s answer, perhaps there is a more fundamental question we should ask:

Why do I need God to tell me—or confirm for me—what decision I should make?

That may sound like a strange question for a Christian to ask. Aren’t we supposed to seek God’s will?

Certainly.

But seeking to live according to God’s will and expecting God to reveal a specific answer to every decision may not be the same thing.

A Family With A Decision To Make

Some years ago, I was talking with a Christian family of five. The husband and wife were godly people who took their faith seriously. He was a schoolteacher, the pastor’s son, and had served as both an elder and a deacon in our church. She was a pediatric nurse and served as the youth minister.

They were considering moving from Massachusetts to Kentucky. There was a promising real-estate opportunity there, and the husband was considering a career change. This wasn’t a small decision. They had children and established lives. Moving would affect virtually everything.

So they were doing exactly what sincere Christians are often taught to do: they were praying diligently about it. They wanted to know what God wanted them to do. They wanted to remain in God’s will for their lives, and they wanted His blessing on whatever they decided.

After listening for a while, I said something very simple:

“God can bless you anywhere you are. So even if you move, why are you afraid of the decision?”

Neither of them immediately had an answer, but they understood the question.

A few days later, they decided to move to Kentucky. The move turned out very well for them.

But that isn’t the important part of the story.

It would be easy to look backward and say, See? Kentucky must have been God’s will because everything worked out. But suppose it hadn’t. Suppose the real-estate opportunity had failed or the career change hadn’t worked. Suppose they had eventually returned to Massachusetts.

Would that prove they had stepped outside God’s will?

Or had we placed a burden on the decision that God never placed there?

Is There Always One Perfect Decision?

There is an assumption Christians can bring into decision-making without ever examining it.

God knows everything. God knows the future. God loves me and knows what is best for me. Therefore, God knows the perfect decision for me to make. If I pray and listen carefully enough, perhaps He will tell me what that decision is.

That reasoning sounds reasonable. In fact, it can sound very spiritual.

But what if the assumption itself is wrong?

What if God has not hidden one perfect answer inside every ordinary decision and made it our responsibility to discover it?

There are certainly decisions where God has already given us the answer. I don’t need special revelation to determine whether I should deliberately deceive someone, steal, commit adultery, or refuse to forgive because I enjoy my resentment. Scripture has already addressed those things.

But Massachusetts or Kentucky? One legitimate job or another? This house or that one? Retire this year or next? Have that difficult conversation today or tomorrow?

Wisdom certainly matters. There can be better and worse choices based on what we know. There can also be foolish choices among the available options.

But a wise choice is not necessarily the same thing as discovering a hidden choice God has already selected for me.

That distinction matters.

God Knows Tomorrow — I Don’t.

Christian theology teaches something remarkable about God:

He isn’t waiting to find out what happens next.

David writes in Psalm 139:

“Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O LORD, you know it altogether.”
— Psalm 139:4

And later:

“In your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”
— Psalm 139:16

God knew every decision I would ever make before I was born. He knew every success and failure, every foolish and wise choice, every sin and act of obedience, and every consequence that would follow. Nothing I have ever done surprised Him, and nothing I will do tomorrow will surprise Him either.

Jesus demonstrated this when He told Peter beforehand that Peter would deny Him.

Peter’s denial wasn’t morally right. Jesus had warned him. Peter remained responsible for what he did.

But Peter’s denial did not catch Jesus by surprise.

There was never a moment when Jesus expected Peter to do one thing and then suddenly had to revise His plans because Peter did something else.

That matters because we sometimes talk as though our choices can surprise God. We worry that we may choose the wrong road, get outside God’s plan, and end up living a life God didn’t expect us to live.

But an omniscient God has never looked at my life and said, “I didn’t see that coming.”

We experience decisions differently because we don’t know the future.

Before making a choice, I see possibilities. If I choose one thing, perhaps this will happen. If I choose another, perhaps something else will happen. I anticipate, calculate and predict.

But I don’t know.

God does.

And perhaps that difference explains part of our desire for Him to tell us what to do.

What Am I Really Looking For?

If I genuinely want to do God’s will, why wouldn’t I want Him to tell me which decision to make?

That desire can be completely sincere. But there may be more happening beneath it than we recognize.

I don’t want to make a mistake. I don’t want to fail, hurt someone, lose money, experience regret or disappoint God. I don’t want to discover five years from now that another choice might have turned out better.

And I don’t particularly like uncertainty.

I want to know.

God does know.

So prayer can quietly become an attempt to obtain something I don’t possess: God’s knowledge of what comes next.

I may think I am asking, “God, what do You want me to do?”

But underneath that question may be another:

“God, tell me what You know so I don’t make a decision that produces an outcome I don’t want.”

That doesn’t mean the prayer is dishonest. It doesn’t mean the person praying lacks faith. It simply means we should examine what we are actually asking God to provide.

Are we seeking wisdom?

Or are we seeking certainty?

Those are not necessarily the same thing.

What Would I Do If I Knew?

Imagine for a moment that God allowed me to see my future—not vaguely, but completely.

Suppose I could see the job I am going to lose, the investment that fails, the person who will betray me, the decision one of my children will make that causes enormous pain, an illness coming, an argument that damages a relationship, or a choice I will someday regret.

What would I do with that knowledge?

I would start changing things immediately.

I wouldn’t make the investment. I wouldn’t hire that person. I wouldn’t take that road. I would try to prevent my child from making that decision. I would make the doctor’s appointment sooner. I would say something different.

Who wouldn’t?

Human beings naturally try to avoid pain, failure, loss and discomfort.

So perhaps what I really want isn’t simply God’s foreknowledge.

I want God’s foreknowledge so I can use it to influence the outcome.

That brings us back to Self-Will.

Self-Will is constantly trying to anticipate what will happen and choose accordingly. That’s how human beings attempt to make life work. We use experience, reason, information, advice and everything else available to us to anticipate what our choices will produce.

There is nothing inherently wrong with that. Much of it is wisdom.

The limitation is that none of it gives us knowledge of the future.

God has that knowledge.

We don’t.

And when we become uncomfortable with that limitation, Self-Will can take on remarkably religious language:

“God, just tell me what I should do.”

Maybe Faith Is Something Different

We often think faith means trusting God to give us the right answer.

Perhaps faith requires something harder.

Maybe faith is not God giving me enough certainty to act. Maybe faith is what allows me to act faithfully when certainty isn’t available.

Consider the man with the withered hand.

Mark tells us that Jesus entered the synagogue and encountered a man whose hand was withered. The religious leaders were watching Jesus closely, looking for a reason to accuse Him. Jesus called the man forward, confronted those watching, and then said:

“Stretch out your hand.”
— Mark 3:5

Think about the order.

The man’s hand was still withered when Jesus told him to stretch it out.

Jesus didn’t restore the hand first and then ask the man to move it. The man had to respond while the condition that made the command difficult was still present.

He stretched it out, and his hand was restored.

Peter did something similar when Jesus told him to come out onto the water. The storm hadn’t stopped. The water hadn’t become solid. The circumstances that made stepping out frightening were still present when Peter stepped out of the boat.

Hebrews gives us another picture in Abraham:

“By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going.”
— Hebrews 11:8

Not knowing.

That is an important phrase.

Faith did not give Abraham complete information about the future.

Faith allowed him to move without it.

Trust God — Not Yourself

This makes Proverbs 3:5–6 considerably harder than it can first appear:

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”

We can hear that as, Don’t trust yourself to make the decision. Ask God to tell you which decision is right.

But perhaps that misses the harder demand contained in the passage.

Trust God.

I don’t know what is coming. He does.

I can investigate. I can think. I can seek counsel. I can consider consequences and learn from experience. Scripture itself teaches the value of wisdom and counsel, so there is nothing particularly spiritual about refusing to use them.

But eventually I reach the boundary of what I can know.

That boundary is uncomfortable because I still have to make a decision.

Self-Will wants to push beyond it. It wants more information, more reassurance, more confirmation—something that will allow me to know that the choice I am about to make will work.

Faith can say something different:

I don’t know how this will turn out. God does.

That doesn’t relieve me of responsibility for making the decision.

It gives me somewhere to place my trust when my knowledge runs out.

Perhaps trusting God does not mean obtaining enough of His knowledge that trust is no longer necessary.

Perhaps it means trusting Him because I cannot know what He knows.

Wisdom and Faith

Faith does not require foolishness.

If you’re considering a job, investigate it. If you’re buying a house, inspect it. If you’re making a financial decision, understand the numbers. If you’re considering marriage, pay attention to the person you are marrying. Seek wise counsel, learn from experience and consider reasonably foreseeable consequences.

Scripture repeatedly praises wisdom.

So perhaps the relationship can be stated simply:

Wisdom says: Don’t be foolish.

Wisdom helps me make the best decision I can with the information available to me. It helps me recognize consequences I should reasonably be able to see.

What wisdom cannot do is tell me everything that will happen afterward.

Eventually, I still have to choose.

Faith says: Trust God regardless of the outcome.

Wisdom helps me decide responsibly.

Faith allows me to move forward without requiring certainty about what my decision will produce.

Jesus Prayed Too

Prayer absolutely matters. Jesus prayed. Paul prayed. Christians are commanded to pray.

But Gethsemane gives us a very different picture of prayer from simply asking God to reveal the choice that produces the best outcome.

Jesus wasn’t praying because He couldn’t determine whether the cross was God’s will.

He knew what was coming.

And in His humanity, He did not want the suffering that was coming.

“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.”
— Matthew 26:39

Jesus openly expressed His desire for the suffering to be removed.

That matters because wanting comfort is not the same thing as choosing comfort.

Wanting pain to go away isn’t necessarily evidence of weak faith. Wanting a difficult circumstance to change isn’t necessarily wrong.

But Jesus didn’t use prayer to avoid what needed to be faced.

Luke tells us:

“And there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him.”
— Luke 22:43

Strengthening Him.

The cup remained.

That gives us another way to think about prayer.

Sometimes prayer may not be about God showing me the road that eliminates suffering.

Sometimes prayer may be where I receive what I need to walk faithfully down the road in front of me.

From the Bag of Tricks to the Toolbox

I understand this differently today than I once did.

For many years, prayer was in what I call my bag of tricks.

I prayed when I got myself into trouble, and sometimes prayer seemed to work. Circumstances changed. Problems disappeared. Something happened that seemed to get me out of the mess I had created.

That reinforced something in me. Prayer became one of the things I reached for when life became uncomfortable.

Prayer is still very much part of my life today.

But now I think of it differently.

Prayer is in my toolbox.

Sometimes I need strength I don’t have. Sometimes my thinking is scattered and I need focus. Sometimes I need wisdom. Sometimes I need help forgiving someone I genuinely don’t want to forgive. Sometimes I need courage to do something I would much rather avoid. Sometimes I need help accepting something I cannot change.

The prayer hasn’t disappeared.

Its purpose has changed.

Instead of always asking God to change what is happening around me, I am increasingly asking Him for what I need to faithfully face what is happening around me.

And even after years of practicing biblical principles, the desire for comfort hasn’t disappeared either.

I still prefer ease before difficulty, peace before unpleasantness, and certainty before risk.

The old bag of tricks is still there.

I simply don’t have to reach into it.

Paul’s Thorn

Paul gives us another example.

He tells us about a “thorn in the flesh” that troubled him greatly. Three times he pleaded with God to remove it.

God didn’t.

Instead, God answered:

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
— 2 Corinthians 12:9

We don’t know precisely what Paul’s thorn was, and there is no reason to pretend we do.

But Paul does tell us something important about what was happening through it. He introduces the thorn by saying it was given “to keep me from becoming conceited” because of the extraordinary revelations he had received.

Paul wanted something removed.

God left it there.

And something was happening in Paul while it remained.

That distinction matters.

Paul initially sought relief from the circumstance. God’s answer was sufficient grace within the circumstance.

Again, prayer did not fail because the thorn remained.

Perhaps the answer wasn’t removal.

Perhaps Paul needed something else more.

Where Does Courage Come From If I Practice Avoidance?

This brings us back to why practicing biblical principles matters in the first place.

Where do I get courage to face life’s difficulties—which are certain to come—if I spend my life practicing avoidance?

I don’t.

Courage has to be practiced in the presence of something frightening. Patience only becomes necessary when I have to wait. Forgiveness becomes necessary because I’ve been injured. Perseverance develops because something is difficult. Self-control is practiced because I want something.

And faith becomes necessary because I don’t know.

That means the very circumstances I want removed may contain the conditions in which the character I say I want must actually be practiced.

Every ordinary occasion where I practice courage while afraid, patience while uncomfortable, forgiveness while hurt, honesty when lying would be easier, or trust when I cannot know the outcome becomes another repetition of the same process:

Principle → Practice → Habit → Character.

This is the same process we looked at in “Why Do I Keep Sinning Even Though I’m a Christian?” Knowing what Scripture says does not automatically replace the responses we have already practiced. Christian growth involves learning and repeatedly practicing something different until the better principle becomes increasingly characteristic of us.

I am becoming someone.

And I am always practicing something.

If discomfort appears and I continually escape it, I am practicing avoidance. Over time, avoidance becomes easier and more natural.

If uncertainty appears and I refuse to act until I feel certain, I am practicing dependence upon certainty. If fear appears and I retreat simply because I’m afraid, I am teaching myself that fear means stop.

Those practices form character too.

Just not the character I intended.

This isn’t unique to spiritual growth. As we saw in “Why Is It So Hard to Change My Behavior?”, repeated behavior strengthens the very patterns we later struggle to change. What I repeatedly practice today becomes increasingly available as my response tomorrow.

The Holy Spirit Hasn’t Disappeared From This Picture

None of this reduces Christian growth to positive thinking, self-improvement or behavioral conditioning.

The Holy Spirit teaches, convicts, reminds, guides, strengthens, produces fruit and works within the believer.

Jesus said:

“But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.”
— John 14:26

That statement was spoken directly to Jesus’ disciples and belongs first in that context. We shouldn’t casually turn every statement Jesus made to the apostles into a universal promise that Christians will receive private answers to every decision.

But neither does the larger New Testament picture leave Christians alone to transform themselves.

At the same time, it doesn’t present us as passive.

Paul tells Christians:

“Walk by the Spirit…”
— Galatians 5:16

And later:

“If we live by the Spirit, let us also keep in step with the Spirit.”
— Galatians 5:25

Walk.

Keep in step.

Those are participatory words.

The Holy Spirit does His work.

We have ours.

And perhaps part of His work becomes increasingly recognizable as what He has taught us becomes increasingly practiced.

When “The Word Behind You” Becomes Clearer

Isaiah contains a beautiful picture:

“And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way, walk in it,’ when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.”
— Isaiah 30:21

We should be careful about removing a prophetic passage from its context and turning it into a promise that every Christian will receive an internal voice telling them which decision to make.

But the image illustrates something important about practiced character.

When a biblical principle is new to me, I may have to deliberately stop and think about it. I may need to remind myself what Scripture says and consciously choose to practice it instead of whatever response comes naturally.

After years of practice, something changes.

Practice honesty long enough and dishonesty becomes easier to recognize. Practice humility and pride becomes easier to spot. Practice forgiveness and resentment becomes increasingly obvious. Practice courage and fear stops automatically meaning stop. Practice acceptance and discomfort stops automatically meaning something has to change right now.

Eventually the principle can become remarkably clear without anything audible occurring.

You simply recognize:

This is the way. Walk in it.

That is one of the things character does.

Practice doesn’t merely change what I do.

Eventually, it changes what I readily recognize as the thing to do.

Hebrews describes mature believers as:

“those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil.”
— Hebrews 5:14

Trained by constant practice.

That is a remarkable description of maturity.

Discernment has been trained.

Without that practice, I remain largely dependent upon the principles, habits, emotional reactions and assumptions I already possess.

In other words, I’m still largely stuck with me and my limitations.

When Christian Activity Replaces Christian Growth

This is where the discussion becomes uncomfortable.

Going to church doesn’t automatically replace my existing principles. Reading the Bible doesn’t automatically replace them. Listening to sermons and singing worship music don’t automatically replace them either.

They can teach me. They can encourage me. They can remind me of what is true. They can place biblical principles in front of me.

But eventually something has to be practiced.

I can pray about forgiveness without forgiving. I can pray for courage while continuing to avoid what frightens me. I can pray for patience while demanding immediate resolution. I can pray for God’s will while refusing to act until I feel certain. I can sing about trusting God while continuing to require reassurance before I will move.

There is nothing wrong with prayer, church, worship, Scripture or preaching. They are essential parts of Christian life.

But if Christianity becomes primarily pray, come to church, sing with us, listen to the sermon, and you’ll feel better, while little changes in what we actually practice, we can unintentionally substitute Christian activity for Christian growth.

We can create a kind of faith replacement.

And that bakes a terrible cake.

The Holy Spirit teaches, convicts, reminds, produces fruit, guides, strengthens and works within the believer. But Christian maturity still involves learning to walk in what He teaches.

Character isn’t suddenly manufactured when the crisis arrives.

The crisis often reveals what I’ve been practicing before it arrived.

So How Do I Know If It’s God’s Voice or Mine?

Maybe we don’t always need to answer that question.

God has already told us an enormous amount about how to live.

Learn it.

But don’t stop there.

Practice it until truth becomes increasingly recognizable, wisdom increasingly natural, and biblical principles increasingly available when life demands them.

Ask God for wisdom. Pray for strength. Seek wise counsel. Examine your motives. Use the knowledge and experience available to you.

Then there comes a point when you have to make the best decision you can.

And own it.

You don’t know how it will turn out.

That’s okay.

God does.

The Christian family I mentioned earlier chose Kentucky, and their decision turned out well. But Kentucky working out isn’t what made their decision faithful.

They were already seeking to live faithfully before they ever packed a box.

Perhaps their biggest burden wasn’t discovering God’s secret answer.

Perhaps it was learning that they were free to make the decision.

God could bless them in Massachusetts.

God could bless them in Kentucky.

And God would still be God either way.

There is a strange irony in all of this. The Christians most worried that an ordinary decision might take them outside God’s will may be worried precisely because they genuinely want to live within it.

Maybe that sincere desire tells us something too.

Christian maturity may not be learning how to get God to tell me tomorrow’s answer.

It may be becoming the kind of person who can faithfully live tomorrow without needing to know the answer today.