This morning I heard the unmistakable high-pitch squeal of a mosquito. But it’s November, and I’m in England.
It turned out to be that my phone had been charging for too long; I unplugged it and the electronic scream dwindled. Silence, as still as a lake. I breathed more deeply.
This is how you treat external noise – you just unplug and smile: smug.
Every day, I look up at the sky for fifteen minutes and try and connect with God. It is my way of practising the discipline of silence.
But even when the world is quiet, I am the noisiest person in the universe. My internal noise drowns all quiet. My brain just doesn’t stop.
I look at clouds drifting.
I wonder if I can meet my deadlines. With a jolt, I catalogue the emails and comments I need to respond to. Then I think about stars and night-driving.
I wonder about ordination and dream about being healthy. What would chaplaincy look like? Is the Church of England a crumbling institution? How long would it take to qualify as a spiritual director? I wonder if women tend to be more attracted to chaplaincy than men, and why women take so long to get ordained. Is it a feminist issue?
My book is out and I’m happy, and at the same time, I don’t know how many sales it will take to truly feel like a success. Perhaps it never does.
Can we talk about Mary and Joseph as refugees? Syria and refugees don’t seem to be in the news anymore. The news cycle is so cruel: we are bored so quickly of tragedy, and God must weep. Maybe God weeps over everything.
I look at my watch: two minutes. With two minutes of supposed silence, I’ve just travelled from my desk to Syria and back. Welcome to the inside of my brain, people.
Thirteen minutes to go.
I look back at the sky: grey passing over blue, passing over white.
God makes the clouds, and they’re so beautiful.
I suddenly realise I’m talking about God, not to God.
God, you made the clouds, and they’re so beautiful.
There’s a curious thing that happens in my soul at that point. It’s like entering a temple. I feel my spirit connect with the Holy Spirit. I am as still as a pillar, silent as a lake.
'I suddenly realise I’m talking about God, not to God.' On silence and brain chatter: Click To Tweet 'Welcome to the inside of my brain, people.' On silence and brain chatter: Click To Tweet 'Even when the world is quiet, I am the noisiest person in the universe. My brain doesn’t stop.' On silence and brain chatter: Click To Tweet
“The Lord is in his holy temple;
let all the earth be silent before him.” – Habakkuk 2:20
Over to you:
- How do you silence your own brain chatter?
- When do you feel like your spirit connects with the Holy Spirit?
- When do you find yourself talking to God, instead of about God?
Joining with #fiveminutefriday,
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