From Creator, to Lord, to Father: My Journey Through the Dark Night into Sonship
There are seasons in the spiritual life where God feels near, and seasons where He feels silent. There are moments when faith feels like fire, and moments when it feels like ashes. But sometimes—very quietly—God is not abandoning; He is transforming.
As I’ve been learning more about the teaching of the Dark Night of the Soul, something in me has begun to make sense. Not in the mind alone, but in the heart. I can look back now and see a pattern I didn’t notice before: the way God slowly revealed Himself to me in stages. Not because He changed, but because I did.
What began as a cry to a distant Creator became a relationship with a saving Lord. And now, almost unexpectedly, it has become a whisper in my soul: “Say Father.”
This blog is that story.
It’s also a teaching on how transformation unfolds, especially through the nights that feel dark but are full of hidden grace.
1. When I First Cried Out: “God Almighty”
Before anything else, God came to me as Creator.
High. Holy. Powerful. Far above.
My prayers were simple then—raw and desperate:
“God, if You’re real…”
“God, help me…”
“God Almighty.”
There was awe, a healthy fear, the sense of standing before Someone infinite.
St. John of the Cross says this is how the soul begins:
“At the beginning the soul is moved by considerations of God’s majesty,
and sees Him more as great and terrible than as sweet and loving.”
— Spiritual Canticle
I didn’t know it then, but this was the first grace.
The awakening.
The beginning of the call.
God was drawing me, even when I felt like I was running.
2. When Christ Found Me: “Lord, what would You have me do?”
Then something shifted.
Jesus stepped into my life as more than a figure in a book.
I began addressing Him unconsciously with a new word:
“Lord.”
Not just God above me, but Someone who could actually lead me.
Guide me.
Teach me.
For three years, my prayer became:
“Lord, what do You want?”
“Lord, where are You taking me?”
“Lord, I’ll follow.”
This stage was intense.
Fire.
Discernment.
Zeal.
Mission.
Learning His voice.
Being purified of sins I used to justify.
St. John of the Cross calls this the stage of active purgation, where the soul works hard but is still learning to surrender:
“The soul labors as one still living by its own efforts,
until the Lord Himself takes it up and begins to do in it that which it could not do alone.”
— Dark Night
During this time:
I grew in devotion to Jesus.
Mary became a real mother in my life.
St. Joseph appeared with that firm, quiet fatherliness.
Scripture opened.
My conscience sharpened.
My love for the Church grew.
This was discipleship.
Beautiful, but also exhausting.
And then, strangely…
God led me into a place where prayer changed again.
3. The Unexpected Shift: “Father…”
Lately something has been echoing inside me.
Not dramatic. Not emotional.
Just persistent.
Quiet.
A voice that says:
“Say Father.”
It feels like a door I didn’t know existed has opened.
And I don’t approach God the same way.
I used to call Him:
God Almighty when I was searching.
Lord when I was following.
But now, without forcing it, the word rising up is:
Father.
Not as a theological point, but as a relationship.
A belonging.
A recognition.
St. John of the Cross says that when the soul enters deeper purification, when God Himself begins the interior work, He introduces the soul to a new form of knowing Him:
“God now communicates Himself not as a Lord to a servant,
but as a Father to a child.”
— (paraphrase, based on themes from Living Flame of Love)
And this is exactly how it feels.
Even the Dark Night makes more sense now—not as punishment, but as preparation. As St. John writes:
“The purpose of the night is to transform the soul in its affections,
so it may love God with the tenderness of a child.”
— Dark Night
In the silence, in the stripping, in the waiting, God was not distancing Himself.
He was drawing me closer than before—closer than “Lord,” closer even than devotion.
He was making me a son.
4. The Pattern I Now See: Mary → Joseph → Father
Looking back, I notice something profound:
Meeting Mary softened my heart.
Knowing Jesus anchored my faith.
Leaning into Joseph grounded my manhood and responsibility.
And now… the Father.
This is spiritual architecture.
Heaven has an order to it.
St. John doesn’t speak much of Joseph, but the saints explain something striking:
Mary leads souls to Jesus.
Joseph prepares souls for the Father.
Jesus brings us into the very heart of the Trinity.
This is the journey of union.
Not the end of the road, but the entrance into it.
5. The Transformation Is Real
I used to think transformation meant visions, miracles, intense emotions.
But now I see it’s something quieter and more enduring.
It’s this:
My soul no longer says “God” from distance.
No longer says “Lord” from duty.
It says Father from identity.
This is not an accomplishment.
It’s not a feeling.
It’s not spiritual hype.
It’s grace doing what grace does:
changing the inner structure of the heart.
As St. John of the Cross teaches:
“The soul becomes what it loves.”
— Spiritual Canticle
And little by little,
through dark nights and slow purifications,
God has been making me into something I didn’t expect:
A son.
6. For Anyone Who Finds Themselves in the Dark Night
If you feel stripped, quiet, confused, or distanced from God…
don’t assume He has left you.
Sometimes the silence is Him holding you closer.
Sometimes the loss of old ways of praying is the birth of something deeper.
Sometimes the shift in how you address Him
is the sign that He is drawing you
from being a servant
to becoming a child.
St. John of the Cross gives this simple, consoling assurance:
“When God leads the soul into the night,
His purpose is not to darken it,
but to illumine it with a greater light
than it has ever known.”
7. And So My Prayer Has Changed
Not because I tried to change it,
but because God changed me.
Now my heart whispers:
“Father…
I am here.
Do in me what I cannot do myself.”
And in that whisper,
in that new name,
in that new relationship,
I can finally say:
The transformation is real.