I rise in the early morning of Friday for this place. The quiet punctuated only by the forced air heat. I like to pray and think and write in this space. But it’s not the only way.
I grew up as an only child and a latch key kid. I spent hours alone. Whole summer days. I learned to stop fearing the silence, to enjoy the creaks of our old house. Fears were handled by a phone call to mom who somehow always answered in those pre-cell phone days. And in the worst situations, like the threatening prank call that came one day, I would hide in my parents’ room, under the covers and make the call. It was safer there. I could smell it.
Growing up in this way created a habit of solitude, a thought pattern that required silence to hear. But it isn’t silence that brings His still, small voice. For many years I struggled (still do sometimes) because there was no quiet (which I defined as lack of noise). These two girls of mine prefer jubilant noise and loud wailing, my husband’s much larger family fills every space of its gathering, mission work with orphans is never quiet and in these situations, I knew I would go crazy because I couldn’t hear. But the need for solitude was a selfish habit, a refusal to keep pouring myself out. I was deceived. Silence does not bring his His voice, rather a quiet heart that is listening for Him above the noise of the world.
A quiet moment may be the easiest way to hear God, but not the only way.
Joining Lisa Jo’s community of word lovers today for 5-minutes on the word: Quiet. Join us here!