I wanted to say something, but nothing would come. I may have murmured something about His sovereignty. I think I said a line or two from the ‘Our Father’ prayer, always an excellent go-to when you’re short on words.
I knew I needed this time alone with God, in fact I was desperate for it, so why didn’t I have anything to say? Frustration eventually set in, then anger, and soon what was supposed to be a time of soothing prayer was a disaster.
If you grew up like me, this is a sorry state to find yourself in. Prayer meetings and impromptu prayer services dotted my island childhood. My grandmother took me to mid-week services. My mother sometimes woke me up before school to kneel bedside with her as she said daily prayers. When I finally settled on a church home after returning from university, naturally I gravitated towards the women who prayed. In all my years, I had never witnessed any of these women I admired struggle to speak. If prayer meeting was especially ‘on point’ the travailing could be heard for several blocks, I was certain of it. Prayer, as far as I knew, was anything but silent.
You can see why I felt uneasy and irritated when I couldn’t find words to say. The irony is that I love silence. It is not easy for everyone, but it has always been easy for me. I find it refreshing. However, this was not a time when I wanted silence. I wanted release.
Prayer can be like that, a long trail of thoughts and feelings spilling out of my heart and mind, running everywhere like rivulets. It’s slightly chaotic and even a little aimless at times, but boy do I feel better when I’m done. I remember some years ago I literally prayed myself into a damp heap on the bedroom floor.
At no other point in history have we humans been less quiet, less still. Look around in any public space and you will see that after just a few minutes of stillness, people will pull out their phones and start swiping, satisfying the persistent low-grade urge to engage something, anything. Well, anything but silence.
John Daniel Barry, the late 20th century author is credited with saying “Few people can endure silence for long. They must have some expression outside themselves that corresponds to the unrest of the spirit.”
I understand him well. Silence reveals the unrest inside of us and activates an instinctive desire to resolve it. Resisting this urge is painful, but there is power in facing and mastering the unrest.
It never occurred to me that my discomfort with silence during prayer might be a reaction to my unrest. I had so much going on, so much I needed to unburden, so many petitions and laments! Now that I can look back, I sincerely believe that my struggle to verbalize pray that day, and on any occasion that I have struggled since, was a red flag from the Father. It was a call to my heart, saying, “Tasha, be still, and know that I am God.”
In response I’ve learned to say, “I have no words Lord, but I’m here.” Surrender immediately ushers me into the power in silence.
Some of the most important things I have gained in silence are clarity regarding situations and decisions that troubled me, supernatural rest and peace during circumstances beyond my control, and perhaps most valuable, but most difficult, I’ve gained truth.
The Bible tells us that God desires truth in the innermost places (Ps. 51:6), and some of the things that have been waiting to confront me in my prayerful silence are unforgiveness, pride and lust. It hasn’t been pretty, but it was necessary. Very often there are things he wants us to see and acknowledge during prayer so we can be healed and transformed, but we miss it.
In the silence a still small voice can now be heard loudly, but often we don’t want to listen. This voice of truth has startled me, humbled me and compelled me all at once! It has turned me from sin, allowing God to restore my soul. That’s a position of power, God’s power!
So, it is okay. When we approach God we do not always need to have words, and we do not need to fear the silence either. Let the silence in, He is waiting for us there.