STARVEDНамуна

Starved for Silence

Confession: I’m afraid of silence. Even after practicing silence regularly. Even after finding a rich connection to God, to myself, and to nature. Even after I see the gift in it. The idea of silence can still feel . . . boring.

But if I take a second look, I can reframe the story of silence. If by boring I mean void of bells and whistles, of noise and applause, of hustle and proving myself, then I’ll take boring for a few minutes each day to help my overstimulated and starving soul recover.

When I practice a few minutes of silence a day (I started with five whole minutes), it means I need to put down all the exciting and noisy and glittery things. Because as we know—all that glitters is not gold.

Making the spiritual diet change from screens to true connection to God is such a healing gift to our harried lives.

• When we practice silence, we remember that God is in charge and we are not. And that is comforting and freeing and lowers our blood pressure.
• When we practice silence, we slow our breathing and this tells our bodies that we are safe.
• When we practice silence, we practice believing God will take care of us. He will take care of our to-do lists. Of our troubles. Of our trauma.

Friend, we’ve got to allow ourselves room to sit in the silence and find real, substantial connection.

Maybe, for just a few small minutes at a time, we practice believing that God is a Good Shepherd.

• That God will be our friend, when we want to text someone instead.
• That God will bring us peace, when we want to bury our anxiety with pretty pictures and mindless games.
• That God will fill us with hope, when we want to turn to the news to offer a good future.
• That God will take care of our insecurities, when we want to find our confidence in the likes of social media.

We are starving for true connection to the One who made us.

Let’s close with this breath prayer. Try to practice silence for a few minutes as you breathe:

Exhale: God, I disconnect from the noise . . .

Inhale: . . . God, I reconnect with You.