Since moving to our land two months ago, the external noise in my life has absolutely transformed. I don’t have noise anymore. It’s silent, save the birds chirping and the dogs barking, or the rain’s patter against the roof, or the rushing wind. I go on walks in the morning and the silence is astounding. It strips me and reveals how much clamor is inside my head. How much nonsense is really there.
When I need to get the kids’ attention, I usually ask quietly for them to listen up. Sometimes they hear me. Sometimes they don’t. If they don’t, I raise my voice until they take heed and pay attention. Sometimes, I yell. And sometimes, on the really bad days when I wonder if anyone in the world is paying attention anymore, I scream. Finally, they’ll pay attention and go off and do what I’ve asked, annoyed that I’ve shouted at them.
God’s isn’t like that. God won’t compete for my attention. He doesn’t scream to get my ear. He pursues and seeks. He waits. But He will not make an attempt to out-talk all the clamor in my life. He wants me be still.
Inside of all our inner noise, is usually a lot of confusion and misunderstanding: all the expectations we have, the expectations that others have, the list of all the things I think God wants to say to me, the should’s, the have to’s, the why didn’t you do this and why didn’t you do that, all the shame of unmet expectations, the regrets and broken dreams, the hope crushing disappointments. When my kids were little, I lived in a near constant state of shame over not doing all the things I thought I was supposed to do. That was nonsense. Jesus does not give us more burdens. He lifts them. He doesn’t add to our list – He washes it away. And invites us into his way – the way of the humble and lowly. The way of a quiet life – A life free of competition and fear. A life full of love and peace and hope and confidence.
When I’m in a place where I really need to hear God, I go on walks. I usually spend the first half telling God everything I think. All that’s on my mind. I cry, I shake my fist, I rage, I wail, or I just talk it out. I pretty much pour out my heart, until there’s nothing left. Then, I pause and invite Jesus into those empty places and ask him to fill them. I ask him to send forth his word. And then … when my heart and mind are quiet, I listen. I turn my ear and let the silence ground me.
It’s there. Right there, in that sacred interplay between silence and a settled heart where God whispers. And it’s always good. It always heals. It always restores. It always gives strength. Always. If it’s from God, it will bring life. Even through death, He brings forth life.
Both silence and a settled heart are vital. Maybe you’re confused or sad, or broken, or desperate, but your heart must be quiet. It must be at a place, where you are open to receive. Even if your soul is downcast or overwhelmed it can still be in a posture to receive.
Silence is necessary. If we want to go outside and look at the stars, it must be dark. If we want to hear God, we must be quiet.
Tell me about how you silence the excess noise in your life. I’d love to hear.
Much Love,
Tina
Right now, the only quiet in my life, quite honestly, is the 20 minutes I’m outside in the barn milking one of our does who is too naughty for the kids to milk. I was talking to God this morning out there and though I’m quite annoyed with her, I was thanking him that it is actually a nice gift to be alone in the morning out there even if I’m working hard to keep her in line the whole time. The quiet, the time there….I need to treasure it instead of get frustrated!
I like that we find our silence where we can get it — and that you live grateful for the solitude you can find.
I miss you.
T
The silence comes to visit me when I write and when I paint. That is when I can hear God most clearly. Thanks for writing about and giving voice to the difficult parts of faith.
I would love to see some of your work sometime.
Thank you for reading about the difficult parts of the faith …
Much Love,
Tina