SILENT SEASONS
The geese are back. In truth, they never left but instead curled up quietly on the frozen banks, waiting for the thaw. This morning I hear them across the lake. I’m awakened to what can only be described as “the fierceness” of their calls like a pack of baying hounds. But the lake refuses to answer.
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There is a pervasiveness to cancer. Not only in its implicit nature, but in the flurry of necessary daily activity surrounding the effort to stay alive.
That flurry—of lab tests and Petscans, chemo and integrative therapies, surgeries and procedures, and all the recovery in between—creates a certain habitual disquiet in the body and in the head.
As time passes, I am discovering there is great disparity of purpose, that is, of saving my life…and living it. And I find myself recently asking what my next important mission is?
To say that I am stuck might be a little too dramatic. But I find myself relating to these relentless geese in their urgency to be heard.
Perhaps it is by comparison to a noisy, questioning mind that the response to my outcries for direction seems muted, even nonexistent.
It’s easy to mistake the silence for abandonment, particularly when contrasted to the recent season of “severe nearness,” when His presence was as near to me as breath.
Despite the lack of clarity, I am eager to push ahead. Not wanting to make a mess of things, I agree to remain stuck instead.
“What do you do when there are no answers?” I asked Charlie Wetzel, my literary consultant and friend. In response he quotes Pastor Simon Jarvis who muses with conviction, “If God has not given you a new revelation, continue with the last thing He told you.”
What is the last revelation you had?
I admit “revelation” is a big word. But I will not be settled until I am clear about what I’ve heard.
Isn’t it true that it’s nearly impossible to receive divine inspiration when your mind is cluttered with “what next” and “what if?”
It is in this frame of mind that I contemplate how a Savoir dealt with the chaos surrounding Him, when I struggle to cope with the self-imposed chaos from within—
He retreated regularly.
Three words that transform everything I believe about a seemingly silent God.
Is it possible He is calling me to silence myself?
This is where I discover myself in the gospels, the act of faith I most identify with—
Not the healing,
Not the teaching or admonishment,
Not even the gathering with those He loved…
But the willingness to lean into the silence in order that I may hear and be heard.
Like Him, I long to hear my Creator’s voice above every other earthly thing.
This revelation is followed by conviction—
Have my prayers become more about talking than listening?
Do I ask for daily intervention yet fail to seek a greater strategy for my life?
Have I missed that my heavenly relationship is defined not by what He gives me,
but by how I am used instead?
What if this silent season is preparation for something far grander than I can conceive—
What if priorities are coming into alignment,
What if details are being organized and opportunities are being fleshed out,
What if partners are being equipped, and places are being prepared?
I am convicted to ask the question—If I believed that there are things going on in unseen places specifically on my behalf, would I release the anxiety, say no to the expedient or ordinary, refuse to rush in?
Silence is not nothing—
It is grace and strategy.
It is protection, necessary space, and rest.
It is the gathering of all the pieces.
It is refusal to settle for a dozen incidental somethings.
A belief that there is just one “best.”
There is only one true remedy for confusion. That is retreat to the wisdom of the still.
Even [and maybe especially] in the silence, the God of the Universe is up to something. Not “out there" somewhere, but right here in me.
NOTES:
Do you feel a stirring? The disquiet is an indication that something extraordinary is coming.
In the absence of fresh revelation, our part is not to simply wait but to persevere.
The idea is not to stall out, but to keep moving, to trust the last thing He said.
What is the last thing you were clear about?
This may take a bit of thought to tease out.
Until you do, take no action out of impatience, frustration, or confusion.
Instead, avoid making little messes that will require Godly resources to clean up.
Isn’t it true that the detours from our purpose are ones we choose to take ourselves?
Silence is not an excuse to do nothing. In fact, it may be affirmation to stay the course
until a new path is prepared.
Jesus “departed and went into a desolate place” (Luke 4:42) — not just once but regularly. “He would withdraw to desolate places and pray” (Luke 5:16).
Image: A lonely chair. A silent lake. A place where the soul can catch up to the musings of a busy mind. Sometimes the disconnect is nearly painful. And then I remember to retreat. Like He did.
