Silence For Once

Sometimes I like to sit in silence. I talk a lot. God finally gets a chance to speak to me when I sit down and be quiet. He speaks to me in ways that are really hard to describe. When I sit in silence, I completely open myself up. Usually my quiet time starts with rapid fires of thoughts, concerns, worries, fears, doubts, desires, agendas, obligations, and whatever else that can force its murky way into my mind. 

Eventually, it stops though.

And it's in that moment, when my mind is clear, and I'm completely open, that God speaks his loudest. 

When he speaks, I immediately feel a deep feeling of calm. It's the kind of calm that warmly surrounds my whole body and comforts my soul. It's really hard to put into words. Then, I feel an overwhelming sense of what I can only describe as God's goodness. 

Once I've recognized that God is with me, like he always is but I always seem to forget, I start to see things differently. Everything in the world just becomes okay. All of my worries go away, and God becomes enough. For once, God becomes enough. 

I start to notice things, "ordinary" things, the way God intended for me to notice them. I start to notice things as beautiful. Ridiculous things like ants, or clouds, or the cool breeze, or a tomato plant, or a wind-chime, or the cafeteria worker who always performs her job with a smile on her face. For a second, I notice everything in the world that is good, and I see it linked directly to the one who made things good. 

And after I sit in his presence for a while...after I bask in the sacred unity between my creator and I, his creation...all I can seem to do is raise my hands. And in the feeblest of attempts to respond, and a lot of the time the only way I can respond, with tear-filled eyes, I manage to muster the words, thank you. Thank you.