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For each of us walking in the wilderness, we long for a day when our stories are heard—when the truth of the tender wounds we carry is known and kept by people who are for our healing.
A month has passed since my story has been told. (Listen on Spotify or Apple Podcasts). I knew the risks of telling my story. I knew I’d be challenging an established narrative, and I knew I needed to brace myself in the event others brought the weight of their frustrations down on me. But being heard lightened a load I had been carrying for a very long time. Being heard was healing because the path I was forced onto was difficult. The timing of my words mattered because the strength of the message God had given me could only come to fruition during a very prolonged season of silence.
I have underestimated the value of silence. I saw silence as an enemy against me rather than an acquaintance I could befriend. Navigating my journey, enduring the pace of my limp, and allowing myself to shed every salty tear has made being heard at this appointed time more beautiful. The reception, the messages, and the sense of community coming alive now have made my tumultuous journey worth it. Having endured the trial of silence, I could speak my message with clarity. And the message was well-received.
Can I admit something, though? I underestimated the wisdom of silence. And I understand why this is so. When the other shoe dropped—when I was forced to take a severance option from a brother I trusted in a church I loved—the silence was oppressive. It was confusing. I didn’t know what was happening. No one would explain anything. I was supposed to be working for a church committed to the love of God, and this mess wasn’t it! The silence was sinister. It was a cell I was forced into; it wasn’t extended to me as a gift to consider. However, I learned that to tell my story fruitfully, my perspective of silence and my posture toward it had to change. I needed to find a better path through silence so I could find the wise words to communicate the truth of my story with faithfulness.
In Henri Nouwen’s The Way of the Heart, he writes, “Silence is the home of the word. Silence gives strength and fruitfulness to the word. We can even say that words are meant to disclose the mystery of the silence from which they come.” He goes on to mention that words in our world are a dime a dozen. They are everywhere. They are loud and cacophonous. Speaking up at the wrong time—speaking my story before I was ready—could be as fruitless as a wind chime trying to compete with a clanging gong. If we are to speak words of wisdom and truth and if we want others to hear and consider them, we need to birth our words from the silent place within us where God dwells.
Nouwen’s words spoke pertinently to my silence. With a different posture, I saw God forming me in the silence. It wasn’t a prison cell. It was my Genesis story. In the silence, God spoke a reborn Jenai into being. My entry into silence originated as a method that stripped me of my agency and personhood so that others could better manage the message, but I reclaimed the silence—used it—as a way to foster a deeper and more meaningful relationship with the Lord. In silence, I could find my Home.
When I felt at home, safe in Christ, I found my strength. I found my words. I did not want to whitewash my experience; so, I found words that were pointed and honest. But I also did not want to write in a way that further contributed to the brokenness of the world. With a quieted heart, I could write words of hope and grace. From the silence, I found a way to boldly herald the truth to a clamorous world. I could declare my story in a way that honors the person of Christ and his Bride.
I want to encourage you: God is ministering directly to your heart in the silent wilderness. If you’ve been thrown in your own pit or if you are being threatened to stay silent (which is horrifically wrong, by the way), take courage—God is present in the silence. He is intimately acquainted with the raw material of silence. From it, he has fashioned worlds and creatures and stars and moons. He has used silence as the substance from which he could form mountains and oceans. I know your soul may burn for the opportunity to scream the injustices you’ve suffered and witnessed. God will make known your story and the stories of others wandering in the wilderness in their appointed time. For now, if silence is the place you are in, allow God to enter in and speak to you from the womb of silence. Surrender and allow him to breathe those words into you.
To repeat Nouwen and to tweak his words a bit: Silence is the home of the word and the Word. In the beginning was the Word (John 1:1), and the Word dwells in you (Galatians 2:20). I want to encourage you to retreat to the silent place inside you and bear witness to all the ways your limping soul is being mended by a God who sees and hears. Silence does not have to be a cinder block penitentiary—a place you’re trapped and forced to wither away in. If you can change your posture, silence can be a hospital where weary souls receive triage from a Physician who cares.
The limps with which we walk are painful. They slow us down. They make us stumble over simple obstacles, and they make the silent journey arduous. But our limp & our silence carry wisdom. They carry compassion. When we’ve walked the hard road, wisdom and compassion can take root inside of us. If you’ve ever prayed for wisdom, maybe this is it—maybe your limp is your wisdom! Maybe this wilderness is akin to the desert where the Desert Mothers and Fathers sought out the wisdom of God. And when God has spoken to you in the still silence of the desert—refashioned you and hemmed you in—he will give you the words to speak unto others. If you pray for such, the words you speak may not only be healing for you, but for other wounded brothers and sisters, too.
May the God of silence quiet your heart, strengthen your words, and make them fruitful in their time.
Your sister in the wilderness,
Jenai
Currently Reading:
Brené Brown’s Braving the Wilderness
Zora Neale Hurston’s You Don’t Know Us Negroes & Other Essays
Recently Finished:
Neil Degrasse Tyson’s Astrophysics for People in a Hurry
*This book ^ is worth a mention because of the sheer enormity of our Universe birthed from a place of silence (despite how one may theologically disagree with Mr. Tyson).
“Tell your story fruitfully” 🤌🏽