I’m in a complicated relationship. I enjoy silence and yet I fear it in the same breath.

As an introvert, silence and solitude most often feels like a welcome balm for my soul. In a world of chaos and noise my soul longs for a welcome retreat. However, recently I have found that silence has felt more like a burden than a blessing.

In the silence, we are forced to come to grips with reality. Life hurts. Sometimes I feel as though I can define this year as before and after March 2020. March was the month that everything changed, but March was just the start. From COVID to political tension to racial trauma, the world feels very unkind right now. How do we stand for truth without succumbing to bitterness? How do we stay strong but also embrace our own utter weakness and dependence? How do we carry the burdens of others when our own threaten to crush us? How do we shine as light when we feel suffocated by the darkness?

These are the questions that surface when I finally choose to stop running and hiding and embrace the silence. My problem is, I delight in distraction. Just another episode. Just another hour at work. Just another, just another and another. We can distract ourselves to death in a desperate pursuit of rest.

But distraction never cured anyone.

Distraction is like placing a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. It covers a little, making us feel like we are protected, but really, we are still bleeding. Instead of delighting in distraction, we must make a tough decision. We must choose to take the long and painful path of true healing that Christ offers us. That means honesty. That means vulnerability. That means truly letting God (and others) into the hurt. That means acknowledging the trauma. That means suffering. But thankfully, the story doesn’t end there.

…suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope… (Romans 5:3b-4)

Hope. I think we could all use a little of that right now.

I will not pretend like I’ve mastered embracing the silence. Distraction still constantly knocks at my door, offering empty promises of sweet relief. I just know, deep down in my soul, that when I finally choose to slow down, open up, and fall into the arms of a waiting Saviour, He’ll be there. He is inviting me to stop running. No, it won’t be easy or painless. No, He won’t make all of my problems disappear. In this world we will have trouble. I just know that He will be there to surround me with His love, to hold my aching heart and to keep count of my tears. After all, that’s what He’s promised, and of all the voices we hear around us, this is one we can count on.