The Gift Of Silence

This year has been a hard year. And I know the following photo has absolutely nothing to do with the Christmas season. But it's harboring a blog post that's been aching in my mind for a while.

In April of this year, I came across this road. It was very early in the morning on a somewhat overcast day. The skies were still deciding on a shade of blue. And I had a little time on my hands. So I let my tires tread down roads I'd never been. While singing my heart out on my peaceful drive, I turned in my thoughtful trance to my right, just in time to see this road escape my view. My heart spun. I stopped the car and turned around. It was paralyzing, the feeling I felt. And even my photo did not capture the serenity I felt as I rolled down the bumpy dirt path. Over the hill to my right was a simple farmhouse, peppered with tawny brown bricks. And down the hill from it, a crimson barn, which seemed to sway to and fro with the lush grass that cleaved to it's frame. Both structures lay neatly accentuated by the brilliant sunrise. A little further on my left, bordered by flawless wrought iron fences, lay a cemetery, still sparkling in the morning dew.

I stopped the car and burst into tears. I still remember the song that was playing. Leigh Nash's "Just A Little."

The details of my week will remain ambiguous, but needless to say, God had chosen the perfect moment to bless me with a few moments of peace, quiet, and true tranquility. And he had brought me to a place of genuine comfort. I reveled in his gift of silence.

I still go back to the road sometimes. I've had a few car rides driving home in tears, overwhelmed by God's goodness, his protection, his peace, his grace, his mercy, his faithfulness, and his love, his love that leaves me speechless.