Hope Through Silence

06/09/2005

As silence grows and bewilderment holds my head at uncomfortable angles, I recall conversations near and far.

During this chapter of my life nothing seems clear and dependable. People I thought I could count on have proven to be untrustworthy. I have realized that words of help and good cheer are uttered for the most part to clear the conscious of the speaker – even as silence grows.

It’s hard enough living in this time – this endless struggle that seems to have a life of its own without the silence that surrounds me – silence from God and silence from those I call my friends.

Could it be people become scared when those around them are going through voluminous conflicts? Maybe others fear the bad gooneys will jump off of me and onto them? I’m reminded of the words of a very pessimistic acquaintance: "No one gives a shit about anything outside of 5 feet from themselves, and if they say they do, they are lying…"

Though the evidence says the above statement holds some validity, I hope not to hang onto it even as the recall rings loudly in my mind’s ear.

Perhaps I could stand the silence from those I’ve shared meals and struggles with if not for experiencing silence from God too. His silence is deafening. It feels cold and lonely. Everything from my toes to the top of my head screams out "WILL YOU FUCKING SAY SOMETHING???"

Maybe a grunt from the Creator will help me sleep tonight. Maybe a shot of brandy will do the trick – at least that would also keep me warm for a little while.

In the past, aside from the obvious Christian modes, I have heard and seen God in a smile, a wink, and sometimes in a little light music. I have discerned Him in passing clouds, the calm over a cup of coffee, the warmth of a bath, the sparkle from a fireplace, the voice of a friend, a hug, an email saying "hi, I’ve been thinking of you…"

BUT SILENCE!

Maybe I’m missing a Morse code clue in the way cars roll over the asphalt near my home, or the rhythm of the air conditioner as it clicks on and off, or the way coffee splashes into my mug. All I hear is the ticking of the wall clock counting off time as it runs out.

Silence is loud. It’s especially loud at night. Louder than a mighty train racing down lonely tracks. As silence grows I find I do not want to answer kindness in kind. I have come to question the motives of those wanting to hear my story. The self-centered, victimized cynic who lives comfortably in me smiles without feeling. She’s wrapped in the belief that the only reason others want to hear what’s going on in her 5 feet of the world is so they can wipe their brows in relief and raise their hands in thanks that it’s not them living on this side of hell. Chanting hallelujah, they can smile back to the place where they drift into silence.

Yeah, I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself this evening. But, as weak as my faith is, I do believe that if I offer my extremes to God – even my God who seems silent – that He will work out the balances. Maybe I’m a fool but this is all I have: belief in unbelief and hope through the silence.


Peace,
zss

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