Where I thought there would be conversations and sharing.
There is very little.
I train my heart to pray.
It is hard work.
Silence is good.
Silence is healthy.
I am not a silent person.
I fill space with words.
I sort through life’s hardships shattering silence.
With one in heaven and two in Haiti.
Silence follows me.
A sound foreign to me.
Until, I take notice.
I see what God is trying to do.
This trip, I have been hanging on their every word.
(Not one my better traits)
Wanting to know what they have done, heard and seen.
Not paying attention to what God wants me to do.
It’s not until they have been gone for 6 days that I see.
Instead of waiting to hear; longing to talk.
I need to be embracing the quiet.
Seeking strength from the giver of strength.
Taking the time to search and dig deep within.
The quiet is not the enemy.
But when your mom has slipped into heaven’s arms and your son not far behind.
And when the memory thief knocks down the door to your dads soul and depression attempts to steal your farmer’s joy, silence becomes deafening and the enemy.
And any space needs to be filled with sounds.
Because to travel to the place in the heart where all that silence resides is agonizing.
So when the silence begins to permeate and the way unavoidable,
God reaches down and allows a moment of clarity.
The silence is a gift.
To be prayed through.
As a reminder to storm the gates of heaven for lost souls.
And it’s taken me six days to open my eyes to the need.
With each fractured conversation there is a reminder and
a call to bow low before the throne of the Almighty.
He’s given the silence.
As a gift.
Walking boldly into that silence today.
Then you will call on me and come and pray to me,
and I will listen to you.
You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.