A Time to Keep Silent

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... a time to keep silence,

and a time to speak.

- Ecclesiastes 3:7

Somewhere we know that without silence 

words lose their meaning, 

that without listening 

speaking no longer heals, 

that without distance 

closeness cannot cure.

- Henri Nouwen

If you never learn the language of gratitude,

you will never be on speaking terms with happiness.

- Proverb

For God alone my soul waits in silence...

- Psalm 62:1

One of the things I had to get used to when Ernie passed away four years ago was spending a lot of time in silence.

Ernie and I loved to talk. About things... about ourselves... our goals... our joys and sorrows... our children... about our past... about our future. Just about anything.

Sometimes, during the day, I would receive a text message from him with these words, "Hi... what do you want to eat for dinner?"  

Facebook and Twitter were not in vogue yet at that time, so whenever he, or I, was traveling, we would send a text to one another, for example,  "Just checked in... waiting to board my flight."

Or sometimes, it would be just three little words... "I love you."

We had important responsibilities during the day - he was a Dean of a college, and one of the Vice Presidents of a university, while I was principal and ministry head of our church school, so we had worlds of our own. But in the late afternoon, when he would come to pick me up from school, we would already begin to talk.

Of course, we did not talk all the time. We also had our "alone" times, when words were not needed. In fact, our relationship was such that we were not clingy. We had a big enough world to do what we needed to do while being apart from each other.  We had a very secure marriage.  He was not the selfish, jealous type, he gave me so much room and freedom to be myself.

And probably it was because our hearts were open to each other that we enjoyed that kind of security in our relationship.

Now that Ernie is gone, there really is no one to engage in with this kind of meaningful conversation.

As I had mentioned in an earlier post, what I miss the most in not having Ernie around is the sense of belonging to someone who truly cares. Someone who truly shares my world. Someone who truly shares my heart.

I've been in Manila for nearly 45 days already. Most of my days here are spent in silence. When my daughter Obedient One leaves for work at 6:30 in the morning, we do not see each other again until around 10:00 at night. And by then, I am half asleep, and there's not much we can talk about at that hour.

On some days I derive a quiet sense of joy when I go on a train trip. I put on my sunglasses, and listen to my worship songs on my iPod... I'm anonymous, and almost invisible.  I take in the sights and sounds, look at the people around me. On Wednesdays I go early for my weekly Bible class at the Greenhills Christian Fellowship.

It's rush hour. There are long lines of people at the different stations that we pass by. My heart is moved with compassion when people rush into the trains, but there's hardly enough room for even one more passenger. Yet, at the female trains, reserved only for women, elderly, and children... there's rarely an angry word despite the rush. The commuters understand. We are all in it together. 

I look at the faces of the people, some are sad, some are lost in thought, many are very beautiful young women of the Metro Manila work force, well dressed, and almost everyone, in the morning, has just had a bath. There is a sweet fragrance whenever I step into the female trains at this hour.

Each passenger has a story to tell. I lift up a silent prayer for them.

When I get off the station, I walk slowly, even during the times that I am running late. I refuse to be rushed.

I take deliberate steps, quick... but unhurried.

Yesterday I went out on errands. At about mid-afternoon, I reached the Trinoma Mall, and after browsing around the National Bookstore, I suddenly had a craving for my favorite Generals' Chicken at the Recipes Restaurant. I walked in and ordered it.

Yes, I have gotten used to going to Starbucks alone, Dairy Queen, or Red Mango. Even just deciding to go to Cyma for my favorite lamb chops and Greek salad... and eating it alone. I've gotten used to it.

After four years of being a widow, I'm quite used to it already.

When I am in my home city of Bacolod, or here in Metro Manila, I have girl friends that I meet up with from time to time. We go to a movie, or have an enjoyable time sharing a meal together. There is a group that I study the Bible with regularly. There are ministry opportunities. But that is not everyday.

Yesterday, while buying some groceries at the Landmark supermarket, I got to thinking about the days when my children were still young. Those were happy days, bringing up a family. My husband and I, we were a team. And I also got to thinking about my own childhood days, when I really didn't have to worry about anything, because Papa and Mama were there - they took good care of me and my sister.

I was well cared for - by my parents... by my husband.

And now, circumstances have changed. The autumn season has come. I really am alone now. 

That's the reality. And that's the truth.

No, I'm not sad or lonely. It just makes me think of how silent my world has become. There is plenty of time to think my thoughts.

One lovely quote goes this way: Change is inevitable, but growth is intentional.

I never want to stop growing, no matter what season I find myself in.

And that verse in Ecclesiastes is so true - there is a time to speak, and there is a time to keep silence.

To be honest, I am even enjoying this season of silence that I am in.

Sometimes when I am in the presence of someone who chatters... I realize that the empty talk jars my senses. 

My dad used to tell me, "Never trust a person who talks too much."

I have always heeded that advice, because my father was a man of few words. He surrounded our life with beauty, with music, and with meaningful words. We would sit in the room, just reading. Words were not needed. We felt the warmth and the depth of his love.

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God's word is rich with reminders to us to use our words, and our silence, wisely.

Where words are many, sin is not absent. That is one of my favorite proverbs.

With the walls of Jericho looming high above the Israelites, they were commanded by God to go around it in silence for seven days. Then came the precise moment to shout, and the walls crumbled to the ground.

In early August, just before I left for Manila, two of Lyndon's Bible studies were about meaningful silence.

I know it is not accidental. 

When Jesus was about to raise the daughter of Jairus back to life, he only allowed the girl's parents and some of his disciples to enter the room with him. (Mark 5:40) The rest of the people he put outside, and he closed the door behind Him. The lesson is clear. Do not allow unbelief to enter the room with you... do not give unbelief a voice.

In the story of the Shunamite woman whose son died, Elisha did the same thing. In 2 Kings 4:33, we read that Elisha shuts the door behind him before praying to the Lord.

Recently, in one of our lessons at the Bible class I have been attending, I was pleasantly surprised to find another case of praying behind the shut door. Dorcas had died, and all the widows stood by Peter showing him the beautiful things this dear woman had made. Then it says in the next verse (Acts 9:40) that Peter put them all out and knelt down and prayed.

In all three instances, the dead were raised to life.

In these stories, there are some important principles worth remembering.

If sharing your problem with others will diminish your faith, it is better to keep your problem to yourself.

Do what you can to build your faith... Better not invite people into your situation who could surround it with unbelief.

Do not allow anyone to poison the air with unbelief.

I was scheduled to return to Bacolod on Monday, October 1. But after finding out that the Intercessors for the Philippines will be holding a worship celebration on that day to commemorate the Feast of Tabernacles, I felt it would be good for me to be at that celebration.

It will honor God to celebrate the last of the Lord's seven feasts this year with fellow intercessors.

It helps to surround myself with people who are walking the way of faith, worship, and obedience.

Silence unbelief.  

Choose gratitude. 

Embrace contentment.

These thoughts are very much on my heart today. And since there is more than enough time on my hands these days, I appreciate the opportunity to share these thoughts here on my blog as well.

When I was in Rasa, Switzerland for the month-long Live Revision Retreat, our retreat mentor mentioned that in an old translation of the Bible he read, the 1 Kings 19:12 passage was rendered differently.

Almost all the versions of the Bible I have read say that the Lord appeared to Elijah in a great and strong wind, an earthquake, and a fire... but the Lord was not in any of them. But after all these great and mighty manifestation of His power, the Lord came as a "still small voice."

It is also beautifully translated as a "delicate whispering voice."

Hans told us that in this old translation he had read, after the fire came... sheer silence.

That really struck me, and I have never forgotten it.

How true this is. God has spoken to me many times in the silence. 

And I have come to embrace this, my season of silence. God is birthing many new things in my spirit. He's enlarging my territory. He's opening up new horizons before me. He's forging new kingdom connections in my life.  

For that I am truly grateful. Shabbat shalom, my friends.