Over a decade and I still remember like yesterday. Turning the key, I opened the door and walked into the quiet stillness of the house. At the threshold one woman—inside, another. Alone. Not a single noise, not one thing out of place, and yet I knew. As if walking directly into a wall, I knew. My heart stopped beating. Mind spinning. Life. Ending.
I close my eyes and feel the same chill run up my spine, the same empty pit form in my stomach. The crushing weight of noise encouraged by the deafening silence of knowing.
Have you ever known something you shouldn’t know? Couldn’t know? And yet, still, you knew?
Sometimes He speaks to our heart and the only proof we have is the whisper of His voice. The stillness of silence and the certainty of knowing something we cannot know. Something we don’t want to know. But in the peace and stillness He speaks to our heart.
So often we live our lives in silence and fear. Accepting the hardship because it’s safer than the unknown.
We know this life, the routine. We know our place, our duty, and we put on our best face. A mask. Our secret hiding place.
We’re all hiding. Covering. Glossing over the surface of a superficial life. Heartache. Distrust. Echoing loneliness. Pain cuts deep.
It’s easier being silent. We pretend much better that way.
We numb. Tell ourselves it doesn’t matter, really. What is love? Who are we to ask for more? But when we numb the dark we numb the light, life turning to shades of grey. Colorless, meaningless grey.
It seems almost a lifetime away, perhaps not even my life really at all. And yet it remains: a part of me. A silent wonder. An unanswered mystery.
A grace, disguised.
So often we sell ourselves short. Settle for something far less than we would allow our sister or friend. We ask ourselves: who are we to be loved? To believe we are someone? To want to be desired, known, to be extraordinary?
Desires planted in the womb by the Creator of love. Destined to search for the fullness of our Maker, every which way before Him. Because we are weak. Fallen. Broken, yet redeemed. Bought with a price, we are free.
And yet we cannot be loved if we first do not love ourselves.
Broken and faded we’ve forgotten who we are. Lost in this grey, we’ve forgotten how to dream. How to laugh. To dance. To love.
But sometimes the darkest times are what lead us to light. When we come to the end of ourselves and have nothing to hold but the loose ends of hope held out by another.
The grief, the sorrow and pain, they haunt us all. But we are not alone.
Can you hear it? The echoes of hope, the still small whisper of His voice. Rest in the truth that you are loved. Known. Hand-crafted with a purpose only your life can fulfill. Lean into faith: the belief in something for which there is no proof.
He’s in the stillness, waiting to be found. In the quiet, He is near. Our strength sits in the whisper of His undying love. Believe in His voice. Accept the gift of His grace.
He is speaking, and He is all the proof you need.