Finding Your Way When You Don't Know Where You're Going: A Guide to Discernment
I have a hat at home that says, "Do you really think this is a good idea?" I keep it in a very visible place to remind myself that I need to stop and ask myself that question more often. Because honestly, 90% of the time, I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going.
This has led to some interesting life decisions. Like moving to D.C. from California in 2015 because I read a book by Henry Nouwen about a church community here—without knowing anyone on the East Coast or really anything about D.C. beyond movies and TV shows. Or deciding a month before university, with all my tuition paid, to move to Montana instead with no money and spend two years with Youth with a Mission.
On a practical level, I'm pretty directionally challenged too. I've driven down the wrong one-way street in Seattle and gotten lost late at night in a large city in Bangladesh with no cell phone, no language skills, and no clue where I was, somehow trying to find my way back home.
But here's the thing about discernment—it's not always about having a clear GPS route for your life. Sometimes it's about learning to pay attention to the pillars of cloud and fire that guide us through the wilderness, even when we can't see the destination.
The Mystery and Practicality of Divine Guidance
Growing up, I generally saw two approaches to discernment that I'll call the "God-told-me-so" approach and the "Micah 6:8" approach. The first was common in the evangelical and charismatic churches of my youth, where prayer and discernment were vital to everything—from what job you worked to who you married. Sometimes the message only got to one person on that marriage discernment part, which created some awkward situations. In this approach, God actively speaks through dreams, visions, inner senses, and other people.
I experienced this recently when I wanted to adopt a cat. I'd had a clear vision: a calm, chill, older black cat that would just be happy to live a quiet life. But then I had a dream about adopting a white cat instead. And the very first weekend I moved into my new apartment—during a massive snowstorm—my neighbor texted about a kitten found wandering the streets. Instead of my planned senior cat, I ended up with an unhinged, energetic kitten who was happiest when sinking her teeth into my ankles.
"Discernment is a spiritual understanding and an experiential knowledge of how God is active in daily life that is acquired through disciplined spiritual practice." - Henry Nouwen
The second approach, which I call the Micah 6:8 approach, is more matter-of-fact. Micah 6:8 says: "God has shown you what is good. What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God." This approach says God has already given you the guidance you need—justice, love, humility. From there, it's largely up to you.
In recent years, I've pivoted more toward this second approach. I pretty much stopped asking God what my calling should be and instead tried to pay attention to the world, finding ways to practice justice, show mercy, and be humble. But I found myself in a conundrum because I like the mystery of the first approach—the belief that God is actively pointing me in the right direction—and I like the groundedness of the second approach.
The truth is, I think we need both. Discernment is what Henry Nouwen calls "a grounded mystery"—practical sometimes, mysterious other times, but always about paying attention to the world in front of us.
Learning to Listen: Practical Tools for Discernment
When the Israelites left Egypt, they found themselves in an in-between place—no longer in captivity but not yet in the promised land. They were leaving behind everything they knew, and many were asking, "What's next? How do we know where to go?" The answer came in Exodus 13:17-22 as "a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night" that never left its place in front of the people. Like the Israelites, we need guides for our journey. Here are some practical tools that have helped me develop what Nouwen calls "disciplined spiritual practice" for discernment:
Reflective Questions for Crisis Response
When confronted by injustice (and let's be honest, that's daily), organizer Miriam Kaba suggests asking four questions:
What resources exist so I can better educate myself?
Who's already doing work around this injustice?
Do I have the capacity to offer concrete support to them? How can I be constructive?
Indigenous organizer Sherry Foytland adds a crucial fifth: Who am I accountable to?
These questions help orient us toward what we, as uniquely gifted people, can do in situations of injustice. They help us avoid both paralysis and the savior complex by grounding us in existing work and community accountability.
Grief as a Compass
I don't like feeling sad—I'm not a big fan of grief. But developing a practice around sorrow has become vital for my discernment. Recently, I was feeling stretched thin, unsure where to put my time and energy. I wanted my friends to help me create a decision-making matrix, to do cost-benefit analysis.
Instead, one friend simply said, "I didn't really hear much of what you were saying because the only thing I could think of was how much grief I felt from you." I realized that in my hectic pace of trying to figure out what I was supposed to do, I had totally missed that I was carrying grief around those decisions. I didn't need a decision-making matrix at that moment—I needed to dig deeper into why I felt so much grief and listen to God's voice in that feeling.
Throughout Exodus, God's message to the people of Israel was consistently: "I have seen your suffering. I know your suffering. I want to hold that pain with you." When we begin to discern our inner world better, it helps us understand what's going on outside as well.
Thinking Beyond Ourselves: Interdependence and Legacy
One thing missing from both the "God-told-me-so" and "Micah 6:8" approaches is that they're very much about me—what am I called to do, where am I supposed to live, who am I supposed to marry? But discernment becomes richer when we expand beyond individual calling to community purpose.
The Seventh Generation Principle
The Haudenosaunee Confederacy (indigenous peoples of the Northeast U.S.) operate by a principle that says: "In our every deliberation, we must consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations." This moves discernment from individual focus to interdependent thinking.
When I think about Washington, D.C., I consider the Piscataway people—the indigenous peoples of this land who are still here, still fighting for their community. I think about D.C.'s nickname "Chocolate City" because of its historically Black population. I think about the El Salvadorian community here, the second largest in the U.S.
What are the ways I can be faithful to those legacies, to those seventh generations? Building discernment means taking time to listen to the people who were here first, wherever "here" is for you. It means living knowing we're borrowing the world from future generations.
Finding Your Place in the Ecosystem
Organizer Deepa Iyer has created what she calls an "ecosystem map" for social movements—identifying roles like weavers (who see connections), experimenters (who take risks), frontline responders (who move into crisis), visionaries (who imagine bold futures), builders (who organize and implement), caregivers (who nurture), healers (who tend to trauma), disruptors (who shake up the status quo), storytellers (who keep narratives alive), and guides (who offer wisdom).
"Discernment calls us to pay attention to our ecosystem, to the place around us, to notice where we might fit in, where others might as well."
What I appreciate about Iyer's work is that it doesn't have a multi-question personality assessment. Instead, you figure out who you are by doing things with other people. You learn what fits through action. Your place in the ecosystem might change—the role you play today may not be where you play tomorrow.
Moses couldn't fulfill his mission alone. He needed Aaron to speak for him, Miriam to lead worship, and the people to follow. It wasn't just about him. Neither is our discernment.
Creation as Teacher: God's First Language
Henry Nouwen writes: "It can be said that God's first language is nature, even if God is revealed through our ancient and endearing spiritual texts. You can read God's way and will in the seasonal patterns and cycles of creation."
I'll admit this is where I struggle most. I grew up with deep appreciation for the natural world, but I wouldn't say I've had a strong relationship with nature. The dominant culture around me has actively prevented that kind of connection.
St. Francis described the sun, moon, wind, water, and fire as siblings. Genesis describes the earth as a co-creator alongside God, the land as sacred place that cares for humanity just as humanity cares for her. This relational language is harder for me to grasp, but I'm learning that building any relationship—in including with creation—takes consistent time and presence.
Just like building a practice of discernment means paying attention to yourself and those around you, it also means paying attention to God's first creations. The properties of water, oil, bread, and wine all point beyond themselves to the great story of our recreation and sustenance.
Living in the Mystery
Discernment isn't about having all the answers or a clear roadmap for life. It's about developing the spiritual muscles to pay attention—to our inner world, to our community, to creation, to the movement of God's Spirit in ordinary moments.
As Robin Kelley writes in Freedom Dreams, "Love and imagination may be the most revolutionary impulses available to us... Without new visions, we don't know what to build, only what to knock down." Discernment is a creative practice of love, a way of imagining the world differently than what we see in front of us.
Sometimes that looks like following a dream about a white cat. Sometimes it looks like asking hard questions about justice and accountability. Sometimes it looks like sitting with grief until you understand what it's teaching you. Sometimes it looks like considering seven generations ahead. Sometimes it looks like simply noticing which role you're called to play in this moment, in this ecosystem.
The pillar of cloud and fire never left the Israelites during their wilderness journey. God's guidance is still present—sometimes practical, sometimes mysterious, but always available to those willing to pay attention. The question isn't whether God is speaking, but whether we're developing the practices to listen. Discernment is meeting God where we're at and letting God meet us where we are, finding the divine in the ordinary—even in the chaos of an unhinged kitten who wasn't part of our plan but might just be exactly what we needed.
Reflection Questions:
When you think about your current season of life, which approach to discernment resonates more with you—the mystical "God-told-me-so" or the practical "Micah 6:8"—and how might you benefit from incorporating elements of both?
Looking at Deepa Iyer's ecosystem roles (weaver, experimenter, frontline responder, visionary, builder, caregiver, healer, disruptor, storyteller, guide), which resonates most with where you sense yourself called in this season, and how might that help clarify your next steps?
