Death of the Awkward Silence
Let's say that you're in conversation with a friend and everything's going swimmingly until the dreaded happens: your supply of things to talk about dwindles to zero. Were this your best friend you'd have no qualms because you'd laugh and say,
"I suppose it's over, we've finally run out of things to talk about," and then proceed to chat for another hour. Another way to manage the silence is to suddenly come up with something urgent you need to rush off to, but seeing as this friend has you cornered and you cannot think of an excuse to save your life, you simply stand there. In the silence.
And things get awkward.
At least, that's the assumed sum of the equation: two people + silence = awkward. Seems that we all equate silence with an inevitable gateway into relationship-busting awkwardness. If you get through these few moments of silence and happen to see that same friend again, you'll have a hard time forgetting the horror of your past encounter.
Obviously, this could all be exaggeration, but at least in my mind, that's how it plays out.
Whether or not situations like that actually occur, there is an interesting phenomenon that I've been observing recently: we hate silence. But we never openly confess that we prefer noise. We call it other things. My personal favorite pseudonyms for noise are music, cooking, dancing, social networking, and even reading. Anything that distracts my mind from the silence of my own humanity.
If I distract myself long enough, I find that my humanity has dwindled, much the same way that talking about the weather has now dwindled to, "I wish Winter would make up her mind!" We both agree and then go on to talk about our impatience with this indecisive weather when honestly, we would complain/debate about the weather no matter what form it took.
The weather's not indecisive, we are.
The reason we can't think of anything better to talk about besides the weather, the reason we find ourselves shrinking from the idea of silence, the reason we feel drained when we should be refreshed is all very simple: we've killed silence. We've banished him into a land labeled, "Do not trespass, all violators will be embarrassed."
Maybe that's true. Maybe when we're silent we are embarrassed because we see that all the noise is just a cover up for our shame. We're loud and rambunctious because we want someone to notice, we want someone to care. But trust me on this one: the One who does notice your pain, your jokes, and your grief, and the One who cares about you more than all the friends on Facebook and Twitter combined is only going to be heard when you let yourself hear Him. You need to take out the ear buds, lay down the phone, and step away from the scene. Hands up, you're in need of a rest.
I've been alone in a huge house this weekend because I'm dog sitting for some friends. I've listened to music, made music, danced, cooked, read, and sung. Anything to not be lonely. But as the weekend has progressed, I see more and more that silence isn't a bad thing. In fact, I'm beginning to find that the silence isn't what's going to make me lonely...it's the noise that does. Becoming more attuned to His voice has enabled me to realize that I'm not at all alone.
He's practically intrusive, the way that His love spills into every area of my life. He won't let me push Him aside. I was tired earlier this evening and decided to bake some banana bread, so I put on some music and got to work. However, Arwen (the dog I'm watching) needed to go out for her evening trot, so though I had wanted to stay in for the evening, I put on my coat and boots and entered the dark stillness of the night.
My breath was taken away.
Mingled between the black lace of silhouetted tree tops I found a mesmerizingly bright moon, crystal and pure in its whiteness.
Beneath it was a bunch of racing city lights that all seemed caught up in their own busyness. I wondered how many of the drivers actually looked up to see the marvel that was rising out of the hills and into the clear sky. And had it not been for Arwen necessitating that I walk her, I wouldn't have seen and experienced the refreshment of that silent moon, staring down upon our rush and screen-filled homes.
Nothing replaces the real thing. No noise can revive you the same way that silence does.
Music, books, chatter, they all have their places--but I'm learning to breathe deep, shut my mouth and computer, and dare the silence to be awkward. I challenge you to do the same, and I bet you'll find that it's far from awkward.
Let light spill into dark crevices and allow yourself to hear the song that He's singing to you in the silence. If you get worried that you're not getting anything done, then take this promise and let it breathe calm over your soul:
"The Lord will fight for you, you have only to be silent.” Exodus 14:14
"I suppose it's over, we've finally run out of things to talk about," and then proceed to chat for another hour. Another way to manage the silence is to suddenly come up with something urgent you need to rush off to, but seeing as this friend has you cornered and you cannot think of an excuse to save your life, you simply stand there. In the silence.
And things get awkward.
At least, that's the assumed sum of the equation: two people + silence = awkward. Seems that we all equate silence with an inevitable gateway into relationship-busting awkwardness. If you get through these few moments of silence and happen to see that same friend again, you'll have a hard time forgetting the horror of your past encounter.
Obviously, this could all be exaggeration, but at least in my mind, that's how it plays out.
Whether or not situations like that actually occur, there is an interesting phenomenon that I've been observing recently: we hate silence. But we never openly confess that we prefer noise. We call it other things. My personal favorite pseudonyms for noise are music, cooking, dancing, social networking, and even reading. Anything that distracts my mind from the silence of my own humanity.
If I distract myself long enough, I find that my humanity has dwindled, much the same way that talking about the weather has now dwindled to, "I wish Winter would make up her mind!" We both agree and then go on to talk about our impatience with this indecisive weather when honestly, we would complain/debate about the weather no matter what form it took.
The weather's not indecisive, we are.
The reason we can't think of anything better to talk about besides the weather, the reason we find ourselves shrinking from the idea of silence, the reason we feel drained when we should be refreshed is all very simple: we've killed silence. We've banished him into a land labeled, "Do not trespass, all violators will be embarrassed."
Maybe that's true. Maybe when we're silent we are embarrassed because we see that all the noise is just a cover up for our shame. We're loud and rambunctious because we want someone to notice, we want someone to care. But trust me on this one: the One who does notice your pain, your jokes, and your grief, and the One who cares about you more than all the friends on Facebook and Twitter combined is only going to be heard when you let yourself hear Him. You need to take out the ear buds, lay down the phone, and step away from the scene. Hands up, you're in need of a rest.
I've been alone in a huge house this weekend because I'm dog sitting for some friends. I've listened to music, made music, danced, cooked, read, and sung. Anything to not be lonely. But as the weekend has progressed, I see more and more that silence isn't a bad thing. In fact, I'm beginning to find that the silence isn't what's going to make me lonely...it's the noise that does. Becoming more attuned to His voice has enabled me to realize that I'm not at all alone.
He's practically intrusive, the way that His love spills into every area of my life. He won't let me push Him aside. I was tired earlier this evening and decided to bake some banana bread, so I put on some music and got to work. However, Arwen (the dog I'm watching) needed to go out for her evening trot, so though I had wanted to stay in for the evening, I put on my coat and boots and entered the dark stillness of the night.
My breath was taken away.
Mingled between the black lace of silhouetted tree tops I found a mesmerizingly bright moon, crystal and pure in its whiteness.
Beneath it was a bunch of racing city lights that all seemed caught up in their own busyness. I wondered how many of the drivers actually looked up to see the marvel that was rising out of the hills and into the clear sky. And had it not been for Arwen necessitating that I walk her, I wouldn't have seen and experienced the refreshment of that silent moon, staring down upon our rush and screen-filled homes.
Nothing replaces the real thing. No noise can revive you the same way that silence does.
Music, books, chatter, they all have their places--but I'm learning to breathe deep, shut my mouth and computer, and dare the silence to be awkward. I challenge you to do the same, and I bet you'll find that it's far from awkward.
Let light spill into dark crevices and allow yourself to hear the song that He's singing to you in the silence. If you get worried that you're not getting anything done, then take this promise and let it breathe calm over your soul:
"The Lord will fight for you, you have only to be silent.” Exodus 14:14
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