You know what it's like.
You're behind the wheel. The music is turned all the way up, and you and whoever accompanies you on this journey are singing to the top of your lungs. You're laughing and conversing, enjoying the ride, partially because of the soundtrack you've created. Sometimes it's a tune you've chosen. Other times, you've been gracious enough to let someone else set the musical mood of this trip. Either way, the sounds you've created are not only complementary to the excursion, we often find that they are necessary. Each song, a record of former lives writing a story of our individual and collective identity. Each conversation, whether with a friend or with self, a welcome account of the joy of being alive. Inevitably, thought, there's a moment when the music has to stop.
You find yourself at an unfamiliar spot in the journey. The kind of situation that requires a bit of maneuvering, concentration, and maybe even some research. Sometimes we look up and find ourselves lost, needing to find our way back to the route we planned. Other times, the car is
experiencing some trouble, and we need to pause or even end the journey to take care of an urgent matter. Sometimes it's as simple as trying to parallel park, especially for those of us who find it difficult. Either way, we've all found ourselves at one moment or another turning the music down so we could "see".
As an educator and mother of four, I don't often find much time for quiet. Today's world always has me in the throes of demand. Someone needs me. There is a phone call to return, a text message unread, a notification left unchecked. Friends want my attention, my children want my time, and work is endless. And if you're anything like me, you have no shortage of noise you wish to create. I have so much to say. So many stories to tell. I want to debate complex ideas to their furthest end. I want to discuss the things I'm learning in the different spaces of my life. On my proverbial journey, I often drive fast with the music turned all the way up, singing to the top of my lungs and laughing loudly with those I welcome into my life. But somewhere in 2022, I found myself lost and I saw smoke coming from under my hood, so God turned my music down. He knew I needed to see.
On Thursday, I felt a little itch in my throat that turned to soreness. By Friday afternoon, my voice had changed to include the rasp that warns me of coming sickness. What did I decide to do? Go live on Instagram for the first time and talk for an hour and a half straight, then hang out with my sister and talk for hours until my voice became no more than a forced whisper. God was forcing me into silence. He was turning my music down.
On New Year's Eve, I spent the entire day in silence. I was not happy about it. There was content I intended to make. Places I wanted to go. Things I wanted to do. All of which would require my voice. Yet I was stuck at home, coughing up mucus and sleeping the day away. At some point Saturday night, I chose to embrace the silence. That was the only way my battle with laryngitis was going to end. So I watched Watch Night Service with my mom in the living room celebrating the history of my life and the life of my church through songs I knew and loved, but couldn't sing. I mourned the death of people honored during the service, some I knew, others I didn't. I cried silent tears during the sermon as I was reminded of the things God could do in my life, and the ways I'd have to shift to make room for it. Saturday night's quiet broke the cacophony of noise I had created to give me the sound I needed.
On New Year's Day, the silence continued, but more intentionally. I ignored most of my calls and texts. If I couldn't talk, that meant I wasn't supposed to. So, with very little improvement in my voice, I spent most of the day resting, but unlike previous days, my rest wasn't just sleep. I prayed some prayers I've been afraid to pray. I journaled more than I have in months. I not only read, but studied and responded to the Scripture. I recorded what I heard God tell me in His Word and through His Spirit. I kept a record of the things that distracted me while I was trying to hear Him. I made a list of things I want in life. I finished reading a book that I know will transform my outlook on life for a long time. I received gentle reminders, and felt myself beginning a new journey, one that would heal my broken heart and bring me to a destination I am still uncertain of, but fully confident in.
God turned down the music so I could see Him.
I got lost on my journey, but the silence allowed me to see that He is the way. He is the roadmap I need, and while my temporal destinations may be unclear in this moment, I know He will be there. He is, in fact, my ultimate destination.
