THE SOUND OF SILENCE

I just returned from a wonderful 24 hours.


These are some thoughts from my time away.

SPIRIT OF PEACE, QUIET OUR HEARTS

Bundling myself against the cold, I set out.  The hike begins without expectations. I discover this sign on the first tree along the trail.  

Under my feet, the satisfying crunch of dropped leaves

littering the path with a vibrant stew of color

Under my feet, the crisp surrender of shimmering icy blades of grass

The morning light playing on the glistening dew like fingers on guitar strings

Under my feet, the sacred ground of the convent

A place dedicated to the Creator of it all

My silent retreat feels different this time.  Having been here before, it is easier to be still and wait.  When there is no agenda, there is no room for any kind of disappointment.  It is a safe place to just be.

As I am walking, glorious bells from the chapel peal an unexpected delight through the waking forest.  

The birds and I stop to listen.  

The grounds are not exactly as I remembered. Mighty trees and their young descendants have crashed equally to the ground.  There was no regard for seniority during last weekend's surprising October storm.  Almost all of the snow is gone now; the burden of its weight upon the brilliant hues of autumn now melted to nourish the trees so abruptly pruned.

It is a challenge to navigate these trails in light of nature's recent timber rearrangement.   But unreservedly worthwhile for those with gloves, a decent pair of boots, and ears listening for the one who imagined it all.  

I am reminded when my mouth cannot form the words my heart needs to speak.  Just be still.  When born in a place of willing dependence, every breath- a prayer. 

And so, I breathe...

And I realize once again, He has never gone away.  Ever patient, love-pursuing, He waits for me to be quiet.  

His breath is on the morning breeze, calling gently through the rustle of the trees.  He grows louder in the gathering of the massive "V" above the trees, heading south.  His fingerprints are on the sunlit moss, the craggy rocks, and the intricate veins of every leaf upon which I step.  He speaks of His living water through the soothing song of the trickling stream.  The attentive deer I pass; they know His voice.  They are constantly listening.  The sound of His words for them is not drowned out by schedules, cell phones, televisions, or meaningless chatter.  

I breathe...

Come and fill my heart with your peace.  

You alone are holy. 

These are the ones who met the silence with me. Friends:

Dorine Rosenberger, Tamara Denlinger, Donna Wilkins