When I woke this morning, the sun was streaming through my window. It feels as though it has been hiding for most of this year. Rain. Cold wind. Grey skies that never quite lift. So to open my eyes to blue was an uplifting start to the day.
I walked to college for morning prayer, taking time to hear the birds. On the way back I ambled along the river, watching light catch on trees and bridges. There was no rush. I wanted to savour the tranquillity.
Back home, it became a solitary kind of day. Books open. Notes taken. A couple of deadlines quietly looming. I got my head down and worked. It felt good to have the time and space to do exactly that.
There was a time when I loved silence. Found it life-giving. Restoring. Then there was a season when I dreaded it. Silence amplified everything I was trying not to hear. It felt suffocating. Disconcerting. Like being left alone with thoughts that would not behave.
Today was not that kind of silence. Today was a good silence. It did not feel threatening or lonely. It felt necessary. Like a gift I hadn’t realised I needed. Even with deadlines hovering at the edge of my mind, there was peace in the quiet. A steadiness. A sense that I did not need to fill every moment with noise or productivity.
We all need days like these. Even Jesus did.
More than once in the Gospels, he withdrew to a quiet place to be alone. Before decisions. After crowds. In the midst of relentless need. Solitude was not weakness. It was sustenance. I suspect it was part of what anchored and sustained his ministry.
In a society that urges us to be visible, busy, always available, always striving, there is something quietly rebellious about stepping aside. About enjoying birdsong. About walking slowly by a river.
If Jesus needed stillness, then so do we.
Perhaps silence is not something to fear or fill, but a gift. Not every day will feel like this. I know that. But today did.
And today, that was enough.
The Reason for my Hope Blog 