Later on, I'll develop this into something more thoughtful. Right now I just want to get it down while it's still in my head.
I was making my Tuesday afternoon rush from Evangeline's school to Rachel's, and because the CD player in the car doesn't work, and Evangeline was in her own world, it was quiet in the car and I had space to think. What I thought about was silence.
Silence is a rare thing in this world. Here in my house today I heard work crews digging up the oil tank of the house across the street, I heard drivers outside honking their horns, and I heard one car door after another slam shut. Out in public or in the streets, it's even worse. People pick louder, more annoying cell phone rings so theirs stand out in the hubbub, and then subject us to their own private conversations.
No wonder iPods are so popular. It's the only way to shut out all the noise.
Silence is precious and thoughtful. When we listen instead of interrupting one another, we understand each other better and show more compassion than normal. No wonder Solomon said, "Even a fool is thought wise if he remains silent." Silence takes restraint, it keeps us from saying the first stupid thing that occurs to us, and it tells the other person that we want to hear what they have to say.
Silence also lets us listen to the deeper currents of their soul, the places so far down that they barely make a ripple as the current washes past. But as one person speaks and the other listens, the water flows into a new course, and slowly the deeper channels of the soul pour out and stand revealed.
When we pray, we usually complain that God is silent, and we wish he would chatter as endlessly as we do. But we're missing the point of why God is silent when we pray: It's because he is listening.
I've been talking for the past seventeen years, and God has listened to it all. For once, I think I'm going to be quiet and see what's on his heart.
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