I love my porch swing. It’s one place I go to connect with God as I drink my coffee and sit with my dogs in the early morning hours. The sounds of a new day, the frosty air, and the view of pine trees along the fence line remind me of God’s presence. But then, sometimes there is silence.
Those pine trees at the fence line were perfectly still one day. Not even a bird or a squirrel moving along the branches, as they usually do. It was almost eerie. I was trying to focus on my conversation with God, but my mind kept wondering and my eyes drawn back to the stillness of the frost-covered trees. No movement. No sound. I felt like that tree mirrored my life at that moment. How long, Lord?
When will you intervene?
Lord…are you there?
Everything seemed frozen in time, and I felt forgotten.
Last week, I remembered that day on the porch swing. We were in the midst of losing Dad. He had been rushed to the emergency room and we spent three days separated from him. God seemed to be completely silent, even as I cried out to Him to help me understand the “why” of what was happening. I reminded myself that the day I was watching those frozen trees and lamenting the silence, I had closed my eyes to plead for God’s voice and opened them to see a brilliant blue sky. White blobs of clouds moved from one side of the horizon to the next. It was like a majestic mad dash of wonder above my head! Yet, there were the trees, frozen in time and unfazed by what was happening above. I had been so focused on the trees I had missed what was happening above. How could things be moving so swiftly over my head, yet in front of me the trees were immovable?
At that moment, I heard the still, small voice of Jesus sending me a message through those clouds. They were a visual reminder of His work in my life. I was so fixated on what was not happening in my life that I almost missed what was happening. I may have pushed the “pause” button, but God hadn’t. He had never stopped moving and working.
God knew when He would call Dad home, and He comforted my heart every time there was silence. God held my heart and poured out grace. I realized during the silence of that week and the grief of losing Dad, that God was at most at work during the quietest moments.
My Bible study during this season is on Noah. He was not lost or forgotten in the great flood, but some days I wonder if he felt the silence. We read the stories in Scripture, knowing how it ends, and forgetting that these heroes of faith experienced emotions of living in real time. It’s easy to assume Noah knew when dry ground would reappear, but Scripture doesn’t give us that detail. God told Noah it would rain 40 days and 40 nights (Genesis 7:4), but how long would the flood waters linger? Can you imagine how Noah felt on day 57? Day 103? Day 148? He probably struggled to believe he would ever see dry land again. I would have! But God blew in at just the right time, sending a wind over the earth that caused the waters to recede.
Sometimes, the wind is all we need to settle our weary hearts and remind us that God is still moving in the silence. During the last week of 
Dad’s life, when I was weary of that silence, God moved around us and above us. He kept me still so He could walk us through the entire journey and assure me that even in the silence, He is busy working on my behalf. If you feel the empty silence, ask God to breathe a reminder of His presence in your path. Quiet yourself and listen for His gentle whisper. You might not have a sudden end to your heartache, but it will be a reminder that God is working, and you have not been forgotten. His hand is guiding you, even in the silence.
Dad’s life, when I was weary of that silence, God moved around us and above us. He kept me still so He could walk us through the entire journey and assure me that even in the silence, He is busy working on my behalf. If you feel the empty silence, ask God to breathe a reminder of His presence in your path. Quiet yourself and listen for His gentle whisper. You might not have a sudden end to your heartache, but it will be a reminder that God is working, and you have not been forgotten. His hand is guiding you, even in the silence.