Where do you put your BUT?

What does a conjunction—a part of speech that connects contrasting ideas—have to do with hearing God? In the case of “but,” it becomes a bridge between despair and hope, between our human frailty and God’s sufficiency. This small yet powerful word helped me discern the difference between the enemy’s voice of self-condemnation and God’s voice of love.

Many years ago, I joined a group of wise, older women reading Peter Lord’s Hearing God. It was my first real exposure to the idea that God’s voice has a distinct tone—one that contrasts with the voices of Satan and even my internal critic. These women also introduced me to a powerful acronym: BUT—Behold Ultimate Truth. That lesson became real to me one evening after a long day with my four-year-old daughter.

As I tucked her into bed, she looked at me sleepily and said, “Mommy, sometimes you are hard on me.” Her words landed with weight, and long after she drifted off, I wrestled with them. A condemning voice whispered You’re no good. You will never be a good mother. Hot tears fell as I believed the lie that I was failing my children.

But then, in the quiet of the night, another voice spoke. The same sentence echoed back to me, but with a crucial shift: You are no good, Mary, BUT (Behold Ultimate Truth), I in you can help you be the mother your children need. You can’t do it alone, BUT (Behold Ultimate Truth), you can with Me.

The contrast was stark—one voice crushed, the other lifted. That moment taught me to recognize the voice of God by its love. Love does not mean there are no hard words, only that they are spoken with kindness, as Jesus did. Dallas Willard, in Hearing God, wrote, Jesus’s reply to Nicodemus was a stinging rebuke, though it was delivered in such a gentle way as to be digestible and helpful. This is the essence of God’s voice—truth that convicts but does not crush, redirection wrapped in grace.

Years later, during a silent retreat, I once again wrestled with God—this time about my nine children and their faith. I lit candles for those walking with Jesus but left the ones who proclaimed agnosticism unlit. Sitting before the flickering lights, I admitted, I don’t know. It was a painful confession. But then another word surfaced: love. Slowly, they connected: I don’t know—love. And I understood. I didn’t know where each of my children stood, but God did. He knew them. He loved them. Moved by that realization, I lit every candle, surrendering them into His hands.

That moment, like so many before, reminded me that God’s voice always calls us beyond our understanding—beyond fear, doubt, and failure. There will always be a voice that says, You can’t. But when I Behold Ultimate Truth, I listen for love. And I hear LOVE say, BUT in Me, with Me, and through Me, you can.