I have a dream of a house in the country.
Not too far from friends and family, but far enough away to provide the quiet my soul needs desperately these days.
For it seems everyone and everything clamors for my eyes, my mind — my heart.
And with each indulgence of the clamor, a piece of myself goes missing. Slowly, over time, I become fractured.
A shell of what I was meant to be.
But in silence, I become whole again.
Yet the wholeness doesn’t come from within me, as if I were powerful enough to create it.
It comes from without.
For in the silence, I am with You.
And instead of the noise fragmenting my soul into shards, I am knit back together as I rest in your presence.
Oddly enough, prayer and Scripture aren’t a part of the quiet. Not exactly, anyway.
It’s more like sitting next to someone you love — someone safe, who knows all of your shortcomings and failures, but loves you anyway — and taking a deep breath after a long day.
And all of the small, intentional steps you’ve taken to build that relationship contribute to the creation of the moment. Like LEGO pieces. They build the moment of peace.
So those small intentional steps in Scripture and prayer every day make the end moment — the restorative silence — possible, even though they may not seem to play an active part.
Yet however the mystery works, I know I will always find You in the silence. As my Father, I sit down on my couch, take a deep breath and find myself in safety at Your feet.
In the silence. With You.
And I am home.