SILENCE

I found myself in 1 Kings 19 this morning in my current read-through-the-Bible. In chapter 18, Elijah defeated the prophets of Baal in a sensational showdown at Mount Carmel. But now, one chapter later, Elijah is exhausted, discouraged, and running for his life. Finally, we come to a beautiful moment when the Lord himself comes to Elijah, seeking Elijah out in the cave where he hid.

A mighty wind tore the mountains apart. But God was not in the wind.

An earthquake shook the mountain. But God was not in the earthquake.

A roaring fire swept across the mountain. But God was not in the fire.

And then...

A low whisper.

Elijah knew, in the stillness of that whisper, that God was present.

My ESV has a footnote to 1 Kings 19:12 that says "low whisper" can also be translated as "thin silence."

Thin silence.

That speaks powerfully to me.

My life has too little silence.

The workday starts early and runs late, often without even a pause for lunch.

Home again and exhausted at the end of the day, my conversation-starved mom pounces on me like a spider on a fly the second I walk in the door.

Dinner, clean up, prep for tomorrow, and the tense, frenetic workday cycle begins again.

Weekends: laundry, cooking, errands, catch up on bookkeeping, change the bed linens, check off as many chores on the needs-to-done list as possible. Another too-busy day, and another.

And if there is silence in this house, it is a bludgeoning silence, a smothering silence, heavy with emotional weight. It is silence that destroys mountains like wind and earthquake and fire.

It is late afternoon. I should review the enormous admissions binder sent home with me from work ("to read in your spare time"), or start yet another load of laundry, or load the dishwasher, or sit and listen to my mom, or prepare for tomorrow's Sunday school class, or clean out my car, or do some other of the thousand things still undone.

Instead, I am sitting on the porch swing. (Best gift ever, Katherine. 💓)

For a moment, just a moment, the air stands still. The clouds overhead pause their riotous dance. The leaves on the trees stop rustling. The birds hold their breath.

A thin silence...

And then rain.