For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation. Psalm 62:1 (ESV)
I have always loved silence. I miss it a lot.
Before we moved to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, I drove to the Hiawatha Forest for one week every month. I left my flock of sheep and my work as a neonatal nurse practitioner to get away from the noise and to write.
I’d never known such quiet. I heard the refrigerator cycling and my heartbeat in my ears while waiting for sleep. The cabin had no phone, no TV, no Internet—not even cell phone coverage.
I wrote in silence and kept a list of things to research. A trip to town and five bucks in the donation jar at the Falling Rock Cafe got me online once a week. That was plenty. I was relaxed, prayed up, and productive.
When we moved north, we brought our share of human and electronic noise. Now I write in our tiny lake house, rich in quiet (except for loon calls). Then, a few months back, I lost the hearing in my right ear. It turns out for me, deafness does not equal silence. Like phantom pain felt by an amputee, tinnitus, the brain’s consolation prize for loss of aural input, clangs in my head. I’m cranky. Disquieted.
My friends and I are praying. My hearing is better, and I’m grateful.
Still, the silence is gone. But quiet may still have a chance. Jesus knew the value of pulling back from chaos. He withdrew often to talk with His Father. During a busy time, He encouraged the disciples to come away to a solitary place to rest. I can still keep silence before God as an act of worship even if it doesn’t sound the way it used to.
Faith Step: Silence can be holy—an act of worship. Sit in silence today. Try ten minutes or more. Imagine Jesus sitting there with you. He will be.
