I’m sitting at my keyboard compelled to communicate, yet feeling like I have absolutely nothing to say. Nothing of merit at any rate. Nothing terribly encouraging. Nothing worth noting. Nothing worth stopping your day to read.
I could complain. I have, actually. Far, far too often in recent weeks. But it doesn’t do any good. It doesn’t solve anything. I don’t feel any better. Frankly, I’m tired of listening to me.
So where does that leave me? Right here …
In the silence.
It’s easy to avoid the silence. It’s easy to escape. The world is loud. So busy. So tense. So filled with distractions. I can always find a million and one places to hide in the busyness. It all sounds so legitimate. But none of it changes the fact that God has been quiet. So very, very quiet. And if I want to find him again–if I want to find his heart again–I need to face the silence.
The other day he asked me if I trusted him. I used to say yes. I’m not so sure anymore. I’m not so quick to assume things I used to take for granted. Not really sure about much of anything anymore …
Except that he is. And I am his. And he is mine.
I’m not sure when that stopped being enough. Maybe when I started avoiding the silence.
But here I am again. To whom shall I go? He alone has the words of life …
Even in the silence.
I wish I trusted you more, Jesus. I want to. I need to. I’d like to say that I’ll try to trust you more, but we both know it doesn’t work that way. I don’t seem to have a very good track record of “trying” to do much of anything. But I can be. I can be yours. And you are mine …
Even in the silence.
And it’s enough for you. And what’s even more amazing is that though I’m struggling with trust—over and over again I hear you saying that you trust me…
You trust me with your silence.
Cindy Powell 