Inquisitive Adventures

We live in a world full of noise, distraction, and constant movement.
But I have always been drawn to silence.

When I was a child, I could sit for hours simply thinking and letting my mind wander. Looking back, I realize that silence has always felt natural to me. I’m not sure whether it is our culture, technology, or social media that has conditioned us to constantly fill every moment with noise, but I know this to be true: that is not how I am wired.

I am wired for silence.

I am someone who needs space and quiet to hear my thoughts, to dream, and to process life.

Over the last few years, it seems we have taught ourselves that distraction is safer than stillness.

There is danger in that.

We need both silence and community. Connection with others matters, but so does learning how to be alone with ourselves and with God.

Because sometimes the greatest danger is not the silence itself, but what all the noise keeps us from hearing.

I have found that when I allow myself to be quiet, I am able to think, dream, process, and hear God’s voice. There is something life-giving about quiet moments, and I am learning to embrace that this is part of who I am.

I am comfortable in silence, and that is okay.

Henri Nouwen once said,
“Solitude is not immediately satisfying, because in solitude we meet our demons, our addictions, or feelings of lust and anger… But if we do not run away, we will meet there also the One who says: ‘Do not be afraid.’”

Maybe that is why silence can feel so uncomfortable.

It slows us down enough to notice what we’ve been carrying. The thoughts we’ve avoided, the fears we’ve buried, the grief we’ve pushed aside.

But it also reminds us that we were never meant to carry those things alone.

Silence is not empty.

Often, it is where God speaks the clearest.

In the Bible, 1 Kings 19, Elijah did not hear God in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire, but in a gentle whisper.

Sometimes God’s voice is not louder than the noise around us.

Sometimes we simply have to get quiet enough to hear it.

For me, silence has become more than a preference.

It has become a place of restoration.

A place where I can think, dream, process, and hear God again.

And maybe silence is not something we need to fix in ourselves or escape from.

Maybe it is a gift we have forgotten how to receive.