Outside my window the storm has passed. There was silence. Silence as thick as the blanket of snow that fell during that night. I sat up on my bed and entered the stillness. I had no more questions. I had no answers either. But I was filled with grace. With an inward silence, blessed by my angel after wrestling in the dark. The faith of this family, resonating with the steps in the stairwell, had quieted my fear and taken me by the hand.
Outer silence, the deep true silence of nature and prayer, calls forth the silence hidden within one's inner being. For to be other than silent in the stillness of the forest or the chapel seems inappropriate and irreverent. In silence, the rare times I attain true inner silence, I recognize my inner self, and I am also aware of God's presence in me as well as a loving, merciful gaze upon me. It is in the mutual gazing upon the infinite and the infinite upon me that I find peace. Oh, why then, silence, are you so hard to attain when you bring so much joy? Why do I so often avoid you? Because the silence is where God is to be found? You have such gifts to give. While our inner being is often noisy, filled with less than productive chattering of the mind, you are always waiting for us to accept you presence in us. To be still, to be silent brings its own gifts. The reward is in the stillness, in the silence, in the sitting.