My kids don’t know how to be silent. Not a clue.
They were bickering at the breakfast “table” (by table I mean coffee table, which is where we always eat breakfast) and I had enough of the rudeness, so I told them it was now a silent breakfast. To which one of them replied by asking for a napkin, the other one said something else and I was like, “Do you not know what it means to be silent?” emphasis definitely added.
A momma just needs a moment of silence now and then, right? Which is why sometimes I find myself sitting on the potty, door locked, for an unreasonably long amount of time.
Clearly, I have a little more clue about silence, with as much silence that has been around this little space lately. Do you ever feel all cooped up inside your heart, with a million things to say except nothing will come out? That’s me right now.
Enter prayer walks. For the last two weeks I’ve been absent from el gym for a variety of reasons, but I’ve managed to squeeze in a walk on the river a couple of times early in the morning. And I’ve set it aside in my heart as prayer time. A time for me to let my heart speak to Jesus, and a time for my heart to be silent and to just listen.
I want to talk. I want to tell Jesus like it is. I want to pour out my soul to Him, and He knows I don’t do it enough. And I want to tell Him how to handle it.
But He also knows I don’t listen enough.
I fill the silence with noise–my words usually first, but then there’s music (even good uplifting Christian music), netflix (my dearest friend lately, or enemy, depending on how you look at it), podcasts, books, other things that fill the small spaces of my heart and mind.
But could it be that all that noise is keeping out the voice of Jesus?
Something to think about.
It’s not that prayer walks give me a direct revelation from God. There hasn’t been a voice straight out of the Heavens, and some days, oh how I wish there was. Sometimes He is silent too, pressing my soul to just wait for Him and trust.
But other times He whispers into my soul, reminding me of truths of who He is and what He wants from me. Reminding me to take courage, for He has overcome the world. To find community–be there for others and let others be there for me. And overall, to trust Him.
To trust Him when the dark of night doesn’t lift even though the sun has risen.
To trust Him when the days seem long and His purposes seem out of reach.
To trust that He is present in every moment, wherever we are, wherever we go.
To trust Him to use me in my messy state to minister to the needs of my family, even if it’s unseen and un-thanked.
Even if the food comes out so-so, the soccer uniform is still wet in the washer and there’s a game, the house is nasty, and the dog’s bottom stinks.
You know I like to keep it real here.
Mostly, I don’t like silence. And my kids don’t like silence either. But I’m working to embrace silence, bit by bit. It’s hard and challenging–silence means you have to deal with your own thoughts, your own heartache, other people’s heartache.
But silence means you can here that still small voice, and that’s the best of the best voices to hear.