Silent God: Know why God does not answer

By Casandra Morris

Have you ever been disappointed in God? Wondered why everyone else seems to be blessed, but everything is going very wrong in your life? What do you do when your foundation is shaking, and you no longer believe what you once believed? How can a loving God stand by when you are in pain? What do you do when God is silent?

Casandra Morris, the author and founder of the Godlywoman911 brand, experienced a living hell:

Tired of being tired! Wake up. Go to work. Participate in any extra-curricular activity. Church on Sundays. Home. She thought she was doing just fine. She would describe herself as happy, kind, and generous.  She even led the youth group ministry and directed all the church summer camps for a long time.

Miss Goody two shoes. Life was good. Too good. By 35, she had two failed marriages, three miscarriages. Two deaths that rocked her life. Oh, and almost murdered. It was a hot mess!

With riveting stories of heart-wrenching honesty, loss, grief, and healing, join the journey Casandra took in discovering the truth and hearing the voice of a once silent God. Casandra invites us all to ask God our hardest questions of faith, such as:

• Am I lovable?
• Does God care? Does God have feelings?
• What does it look like to fear God?
• Does God speak to us? Or is that only a Bible thing.
• Why should I forgive a mother who abandoned me?
• Do I have a purpose?
• Is God actually hearing me?
• Can I pray "Send me" if it means getting cancer, loss, or heartbreak?
• Can I bring joy to God? And does it even matter!

In her pursuit of God, Casandra found something better than good church answers: She found a God who had been pursuing her all along. Silent God: Know why God does not answer unpacks the touchpoints of a daily walk that brings joy to God. Join Casandra as she shares how she has come to know without a doubt that love triumphs when you learn the truth of God's word.

• Language: English
• Publisher: From Small Beginnings Ltd.
• Release date: May 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781916345218

Book preview

Acknowledgments

God—to your glory.

Ricky and Jermz, my brothers from another mother—your faith, belief, and encouragement led me to write this book. Thank you.

To my editor, Sophie Thomas, for your grace, heart, and mastery of storytelling—thank you.

To my draft readers—thank you.

©2020 by Casandra Morris

Silent God: Know why God does not answer.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

Published in Miramar, Florida, by From Small Beginnings Ltd.

All Bible verses are quoted in NIV (2011) unless otherwise noted.

Library of Congress Cataloging-In-Publication Data

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020903516

ISBN 978-1-9163452-0-1 (print)

ISBN 978-1-9163452-1-8 (eBook)

Contents

Acknowledgments  ix

Part I

THE BEGINNING

Introduction  14 

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Upset   20    

A Hot Mess    26           

The War Room    32        

High Praise from God   37         

Best Camp Girl    43        

What This Book Is Not About   48        

Part II

SEEKING GOD

Believe  52             

Purpose    60          

Submission   67            

Fear        73   

Obedience       80    

Forgiveness       88   

Growth     95       

Jesus-Like      101     

What Does God Hate?   108   

Send Me      115     

The Reality  122             

Part III

THE TRUTH

Never Forget     130     

The Perfect Love   138       

Prayer and Maturity    143     

The D-word     148     

Small Steps     153 

The Truth About Joy     161   

Reflection      168   

Join the Movement    176 

Conclusion    180       

Afterword 185

Bible Verse Index 187

About the Author 191

Notes 192

I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.

— Galatians 2:20

PART I

THE BEGINNING

Introduction

Walking to my door , with echoes of a dog barking down the road, I listen to the neighbor’s laughter and breathe in the smells of their dinner cooking. Exhausted, I wonder if it is roast chicken on their menu for tonight. A door opens, and another neighbor waves at me. You look tired, sweetie. You okay? Not missing a beat, I smile generously and say, I am blessed. Giving God thanks. Laughing, she opens her car door, You always say that. Go and get some rest now.

She is right. I do always say that. Stepping over the cracked tiles on my front steps, I try not to think of yet another item on the list of repairs that I need to make to my home. I just want to get inside.

Rushing into the house, I am met with silence. Home.

It is a Saturday night, and my only goal is to freshen up, eat and then curl up with a book. Dashing in and out of the shower, I focus on appeasing the monster in my middle growling for attention. If only I had grabbed food on the road. Opening my fridge, I realize that I should have gone the take-out route. Tonight was going to be a peanut-butter-and-jam sandwich kind of night with milo tea and a healthy dose of condensed milk.

An avid reader, the thought of curling up on my couch to read J.D. Robb’s latest book, has me licking my fingers quickly. Cuddling up with my six-foot-tall teddy bear affectionately called Buddy, I settle into reading. By my watch, I have three hours to read before I need to lock up in the downstairs guest bedroom, where I have been camping out for the past ten months.

An hour passes away in a blur of intrigue and mystery as I enter the world of Lt. Eve Dallas and her sidekick, Peabody. The click of the door pulls me out of my fog. No... no...

He is home early.

As he stumbles into the house with the smell of alcohol permeating out of his skin, I cringe. Lord, please let him ignore me and just go on his way, I pray. If I move, it will draw more attention, so I stay still as a gecko, hoping to camouflage and blend into the quiet and stillness of the room.

He ambles over to me with a salacious grin on his face and pure delight in his eyes, swaying. Baby, we need to talk. It has been months since we have been together. He tries to lean over the couch and grab at me, but his coordination is off, and he slams down on my chest. Laughing, he sits up and tries to kiss me, but I refuse and ask him to stop.

You think you are better than me! This is your duty, he shouts while gripping me harder and tearing at my clothes. As I push away, his hands are strong as steel, probing and seeking my clothes to tear, and skin to grab on to. In my panic, I can’t remember any self-defense moves I was taught in my karate classes. So I do the only thing I can—I twist and kick out at him.

Shocked, he stumbles away, and I make my move. I run. I need to get to the bedroom with haste.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice he has gone into the kitchen and has grabbed a knife. Fear grips me. Not going to make it... not going to make it is the mantra pounding in my head.

Heart beating out of my chest, the roar of his footsteps behind me, I slide into the guest bathroom and slam the door shut, weaving away and missing the arc of his attack. Tension grips my body as my breath seesaws in and out, my mind in total shock.

He is trying to kill me. He wants me dead. Oh, my gosh. My husband wants to kill me!

Open the door now! Bam. Bam. Bam. You think you can run from me?

Assured that the door is locked, I back away. Running my hands through my hair, I look around the small cramped space of my bathroom for a place to hide and block out the noise. Safely in the bathtub, my hand starts cramping. My phone! All along, I have been holding on to my phone for dear life.

Trembling, I call 9-1-1. On the third ring—This is 9-1-1, how can I help you? Woodenly, I urge the operator to have a police officer come to my home as I was under attack by my husband.

Who is that you are talking to? What—you are calling the police again? Make them come. I will deal with them too!

She keeps me on the line until they arrived. I’m not even sure what she’s saying, but she saves me.

Eventually, I hear from the other side of the door: Ma’am, you can open the door. This is the police. Sweeter words have never been spoken to me. Opening the door and peeping around the corner, I meet very familiar, old, and kind eyes. My heart drops in dread.

You are safe. The other officer is speaking to your husband, explains the friendly officer.

He can’t stay here, he tried to kill me, I sputter. I don’t want to move from the safety of the bathroom. My legs are strung tighter than guitar strings and are locked under the frame of the door.

The officer slowly reaches his hand out for me and asks if I felt safe to come out into the living room and speak with him. He knows this living room well enough. This is not the first time he has been asked to come to my home. As we settle onto separate couches, he pauses for a few minutes, either to give me time to relax or for him to come up with the right words he needs to say to me.

After an internal battle, he quietly states, In many different countries, police officers’ largest complaints and cases may be robberies or murder, but not here. The largest number of calls that we receive in this country is for domestic abuse. He then looks me right in the eyes and asks, Are you willing to be a statistic? Or do you feel that God has a different purpose for your life?

Me? A statistic?

I thought that I was doing just fine.

I was kind and giving to many.

For years, I enjoyed leading the youth group ministry and directing the church summer camps.

Miss Goody two shoes... yep. That’s me.

Focused, resilient. At age twenty-three, I was the Deputy and Acting CEO for an Association. The General Manager of Marketing by age twenty-five for the Caribbean’s first marine park attraction. By age twenty-seven, I was the youngest Head of Marketing for a leading telecommunications provider. At twenty-eight, I became an entrepreneur.

Life was good.

Now here I am at thirty-five: If I leave, I will have not one but two failed marriages. Three miscarriages.

If I was told that by thirty-five, I was going to be in a twice-failed marriage with an abusive and adulterous husband, I would have laughed. I was adamant that no man should ever lay their hands on a woman, and she stays in that relationship. I also believed that no woman should stay in a marriage where her husband is a serial adulterer. But I did.

Soon after this, I would face the death of two mother figures. An income drop from a high five-figure salary years previously had brought on a loss of status and friends. I felt lost.

But above all, I was so ashamed. How did I get here? God, I need you! Where are you?

The officer continues to speak with me as tears run down my face. The last few times, the officer was at my home, in his gentle wisdom, he counseled and encouraged us to continue marriage therapy with our pastor. I remember my husband’s intense dislike for him and his harsh words after he left our home. He felt that as a man, the police officer should have sided with him. I was the nagging wife in the marriage, always asking him what time he would be home and seeking support for the union. So, I was the problem. He was a man and should not be questioned for his actions or tracked for his whereabouts.

This marriage had brought many painful labels: victim, barren, loner, failure. I had an adulterous husband who was both physically, psychologically, and emotionally abusive. And I stayed because I was trying to be a good Christian wife.

I thought that if I loved him more...

If I prayed over him more...

If I took care of his children better than anyone else...

If I bought him more stuff...

If I gave and gave and gave, then he would notice and love me—and me alone. Every day that he was with another woman, I forgave him. Every time he hit me, I forgave him. And every day, I kept on losing a part of myself.

Looking at me now, without any accusation on his face, the officer says simply, You are afraid.

He is right. I am afraid of the stigma and shame it would bring because this was the second time that I had chosen wrong. A second failed marriage. A second person that had proved to the world that I was unlovable. It was my fault. After all, something is wrong with you to have two failed marriages.

But as he leaves my home, I am resolved: I will not become a statistic. God, I pray with silent fervor, please speak to me. I need to hear from you now.

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Upset

There is no doubt that it is around the family and the home that all the greatest virtues, the most dominating virtues of human, are created, strengthened, and maintained. - Winston S. Churchill

Before the incidents , as I call them, I loved everything about life. Most of all, I enjoyed giving. I gave so much each month that I was broke a week after payday. But I didn’t care.

I couldn’t keep money in my pocket because I was giving it all away. One of my friends called it the orphanage syndrome.