Our house is quiet. Sometimes it’s a lonely “waiting for adoption” sort of quiet, but most of the time it’s a soothing quiet. And I soak it up. Just the other day, I spent nearly four hours in consecutive silence. It was heart-binding. It was immense. It was effortless. It was convenient.
And it sort of serendipitously happened.
I didn’t wake up that morning demanding silence. I didn’t put it on my little to-do list. And I didn’t consciously enter into it. In fact, I didn’t know I was in the presence of silence until it was being removed from me, phone call by car radio by office-work, like the unwrapping of a warm soothing blanket.
My soul had been blanketed in silence for the morning, leaving me with a strong sense of self-awareness and Shalom. I could almost hear my soul speak soft quiet soulish words. Almost.
Given another hour or so, I suspect that my soul would’ve spoken. Words would’ve flown from my hands. Art would’ve dripped from my fingertips. Truth would’ve been whispered from deep within me.
So I muted the radio in an effort to save what little silence remained. I breathed in and out the air of oxygen-rich transcendance. I felt small but safe. Secure.
I’ve made effort to reclaim the quiet spaces of my life, enter into them with intention and care. I look for those pockets of my week that might go uninterrupted and still. I place myself in them. I rest. I reflect.
And I know that soon my world will be filled with the sound of giggles and potty emergencies and little feet and peanut-butter sandwiches. I know the sounds around me will soon shift, and I wonder how I’m going to find that silence that my soul craves?
How do you find silence? Or does It find you?