Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven’t the answer to a question you’ve been asked, or the hush of a country road at night, or the expectant pause of a room full of people when someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you’re alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully. ~Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth
Quiet becomes a soul, adorning it, allowing it to blossom and grow and hear the words being spoken in delicate breezes. I forget about the purpose and power of quiet – real quiet – in this world where noise is an indicator of busyness and sound is synonymous with activity and the biggest voices get the most attention. And there is a difference between silence and quiet. It’s easy to want a moment of silence in the midst of the clamor. But quiet? It’s not the absence of sound. It’s the presence of peace, of trust – a reminder of the eternal in the temporal.
Quiet is redemptive.
This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: “Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength…” ~Isaiah 30:15
Quiet offers rest and salvation, healing and strength. But how often I forget that. How often do I get caught up by the noise and sound and biggest voices, adding my own banging and clanging and yelling to the hubbub. I become the clamor.
Yet God, in His patience beyond measure, holds out His hand with the quiet. For He knows I will quickly weary. He knows I will long for the hush and the delicate breezes again. He knows I know its beauty, and long for quiet to become me again.
Today, I rejoice in the becoming of the quiet. And I pray the quiet becomes you too.