Making Room for Silence
A case for this life-giving practice.
Hello, after an extended summer hiatus. Such is writing from the corner of faith and everyday life. The latter will invariably push and shove. Thankfully, one can count on faith shedding light on how to move (or hold).
And in this season, I am learning to hold–silence.
I don’t mean staying quiet, although that can be helpful and is a lovely form of hospitality. It is an invaluable gift to offer generous ears and be a safe space for someone. But I mean intentionally creating regular spaces for quiet reflection conducive to stillness, acting like the noise-cancelling headphones for our soul. The result is breathing room to reset, grieve, rejoice, and recalibrate so we can see what God is doing.
I have practiced fasting on Sundays from social media for the past eight years. It’s been a game-changer. While writing this, it occurred to me that it is a form of holding silence from distraction (good or bad). Those 24 hours every week are like a boundary, containing my nervous system and all my thoughts and emotions in a space apart from the information overload, the scrolling, and the temptation for comparison or loneliness that can follow.
But aside from that, my soul needs regular spaces and moments that afford some stillness. As a born extrovert and verbal processor, silence does not come naturally to me. But I suspect that silence may be difficult to find or make room for, even for those who are more reserved, as our world can get very noisy.
Regardless of one’s natural temperament, I think we tend to give up on the idea of carving out some quiet in the face of responsibilities and real life’s twists and turns (sickness, deadlines, etc.).
A few months ago, flipping through an old journal, I came across a verse I had written:
In returning and rest, you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust, shall be your strength. Isaiah 30:15 (ESV) [Emphasis mine]
I stopped at each word to think through what the whole was saying. The ESV uses “returning,” whereas other translations use “repentance.” Because words matter, let me add context to this seemingly “churchy" word. To repent is a military term that means to turn and walk in a different direction. To change direction–toward God and his rest preserves life.
Quietness is a source of strength.
For weeks, I’ve been revisiting that verse, praying, and taking notes. I recognize that my better, wiser choices are often preceded by quiet reflection, slowness, and prayer (made possible by the first two items listed).
Similarly, when faced with an unannounced hardship that disrupted everything, I did better emotionally and mentally when I took time to be still and hold a pause. The challenges were the same, but my awareness of God and my recall of his faithfulness and provision were more at the top of my mind–I could recognize it, which, in turn, steadied me in navigating the storm.
The (many) times I did not make room for quiet reflection, and pause were painfully obvious. Again, the hard is still hard. The change had to do with my heart’s position vis-a-vis God, and that made all the difference.
Silence is a boundary.
If there’s been a hard lesson for me to learn in adulthood, it is to recognize my limitations1 and see them as good. When I make room for silence, it creates a space apart where I can just be, while the world and all its wonderful, distracting, and, at times, harmful noise do not colour all my thoughts, emotions, and decisions.
Colouring outside the lines is wonderfully helpful. But to only do that will, ironically, limit the discovery of what we can do within the limits of those lines.
Stillness is a refuge.
When we are still, we notice better what isn’t. I’m struck by Psalm 46:10a, “Be still and know that I am God” (NIV). It’s in a state of stillness that our attention can turn to God and notice who He is and what He’s doing. We commune with Him and experience His presence during whatever season we’re navigating; we shelter in and with Him.
In our productivity-obsessed Western culture, we mistake silence or stillness for inactivity. Yet, how can the heart best grow healthy roots, but in the refuge of His presence. It is a holy space where the stillness is at work in us.
Take nature in the dead of winter. In this death-like slumber, where nothing grows and not a spec of green is seen, the earth is busy deep under the surface, resting, fallow. Come spring, the nutrients will be ready for new seeds to take root.
-.-
No wonder Jesus made time to be alone to pray so often during his three-year ministry. If God the Son, in his humanity, needed and made time to be still, how much more do our mortal souls need it, too?
To borrow words from the book of Ecclesiastes, there's a time for everything. And there is a time for silence that restores, shelters, and strengthens. I am learning that time is always. It’s a matter of making the space for it in whatever ways I can and intentionally asking God to help me find Him and give me eyes to see His work in and around me.
Love the unpacking of the word "repentance," tracing back to it's military roots . . . a word that so often gets wrapped up, even bound up, in overly-religious-thinking. Thank you for sharing the call for silence, stillness, abiding. . . And letting our roots grow deep as HE works in us.
Incredibly wise words, friend. Thank you for making room for silence and for writing! Dwelling on this quote, and holding hope (and silence) all the more: "It’s in a state of stillness that our attention can turn to God and notice who He is and what He’s doing." Trusting He will reveal.