God is everywhere. He surrounds us. God is in the silence. Frankly speaking, He is silence. And that is why the sound of what may seem like nothing to you... is the most beautiful sound in the world to me.
Over winter break I wrote a blurb after a run. It had been a lovely morning and God romanced me in a way He never had. Usually when I run I talk to God, but this time I didn't. I just... ran.
Out and under, over and over my legs turn as I glide down the familiar trail. I see each breath in the air, which bites at my nose, cold and sharp. Running through the icy snow, I miss the reassuring crunch of fall’s leaves beneath my feet, and the resounding beat of my footsteps on the rocks during the summer.
I slow to tiptoe through the muck of a bend, the path untouched by snow. Head down, I look for dry spots or rocks to place my anxious feet. The crackling snap of a dry branch behind me brings my head up and I look over my shoulder, only to see a ten-point buck crossing the path, oblivious to my presence. He is a regal creature, strong and proud. Having completely stopped picking my way through the mud, I watch as he nimbly springs up a snow covered hill. He walks out of my sight, but I don’t continue on my way.
A fiery red cardinal flies in undulations in front of my path before settling on a branch of an oak; his feathers are a stark contrast to the dry, brown bark of the tree and the bleak, gray skies above. His clear, bright song echoes throughout the bend, and it’s as if he’s saying, “Here I am, look at me. Am I not beautiful?” He then flies away, but still I do not move on.
Listen.
Can you hear that?
Silence.
Under the canopy of trees I close my eyes, letting the silence wash over me. I thank God for this moment and open my eyes, refreshed, ready to continue forward. No thoughts run through my mind. Out and under, over and over my legs turn once more.
I turn sharply onto a deer trail and ascend an inclination, taking me behind the farm, still in the woods, but soon the trail empties out onto cougar’s hill. As I walk down the hill, so as to not slip on the ice covered snow, I realize how much I’ve missed the park. It’s been a locus of refuge, a gateway to many adventures, and a place of much growth.
A ray of sunshine peeks through the clouds, testing the waters, then disappears behind the blanket of clouds before pushing them aside completely, allowing the sun to emerge. I reach the bottom of the hill and run across the deserted road towards the brick hill and make my way up to the tennis courts, soaking up the newfound warmth of the sun’s rays. It’s slight, but makes all the difference on a cold, January morning. I pick up speed along the winding road as I make my way towards the curve in the road that sits kitty-corner behind my house. I spring through the woods towards our barn, jumping over fallen tree trunks and weaving around prickly bushes that have lost their leaves to winter.
I slow to a walk as I pass the leaning, mossy barn and naked trampoline, trudging my way across our snowy yard. Home again, home again, having reveled in the glory of God’s new day with a clear mind and a prayerful heart.
Silence is considered the absence of sound or noise, right? Yet couldn’t silence itself be a sound? I consider silence my ‘favorite sound’. This is the only reason I question. I explained it to a friend once. My love of it, I mean. I don’t think I could ever explain it as well as I did that night. It was, by no means, eloquent or well thought out (or thought out at all, for that matter). I mean my gosh, I can’t even fully remember what I said… but it came from my heart. I don’t know why I feel so strongly about silence, I truly don’t. As I think about it now, though, I realize I don’t want to try and explain why I love it as much as I do – ever again, honestly. Silence. It’s beautiful. And that’s good enough for me.
'There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: ... a time to be silent and a time to speak...'
[Ecclesiastes 3:1,7]
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