One December evening, while home alone eating dinner, I suddenly became aware of how quiet the house was. I hadn't been by myself much for 25 years because I had four kids, a husband, and a dog to fill my home with noise and activity. But my kids were grown, my youngest was away at college, my husband was on a business trip, and our dog had recently passed away. And although I had experienced quiet moments before, this silence seemed different – louder and longer. It had a new quality I hadn't sensed before – a permanence. It rattled me a little bit.

Silence can be strangely powerful - maybe because in the void created by quiet, the things we've tried hard to suppress tend to emerge, like demons creeping out of the shadows. If we linger too long in silence, the anxieties or fears that were carefully hidden by layers of distraction often bubble up to threaten our precarious and precious equilibrium. That health concern we've tried to pretend doesn't exist; the stressful conversation we've put off; the wounds and sorrows we've refused to face. In my case, the quiet house was an unwanted reminder of a new season. Sometimes silence can feel overwhelming.

My first impulse was to pick up my phone to turn on some music – to forget my sadness over the changing season. But I stopped short, curiosity overcoming the desire for distraction. Setting down the phone, I decided to marinate in the silence rather than fill it. Maybe I needed to get comfortable with the lack of noise in my house, like breaking in a new pair of shoes.

As expected, while I stared out the window into the gathering darkness, my first thoughts were nostalgic – I missed all the people who had filled the house for so many years. Listening in the stillness, I could almost hear them. The sounds of laughter, crying, running footsteps, clattering dishes, and shouts of "MOM!" played like echoes in my mind. I could even hear the dog barking, her tiny claws clicking on the hardwood floor.

I keenly felt the absence of those sounds. Like the ghost in A Christmas Carol, the silence seemed to be showing me a glimpse of the future, a noiseless gong, tolling the end of a marvelous chapter and ushering in the unknown.

Still, I remained in the void, with my emotions heightened. Eventually, as the sun set and the room began to darken, I noticed the Christmas tree in the next room, peacefully glowing. Slowly, my mournful thoughts began to settle like dust bunnies. Staring at the tree, the words to the old hymn, "Silent Night," came to mind. Soon, the worries that were born in the tomb-like quiet of my house began to fall away, and an air of expectancy replaced them as I finally remembered God. 

I thought about the first Christmas night, wondering what was on the shepherds’ minds as the quiet blanket of dusk began to cover the fields and flocks outside of Bethlehem. Were their hearts heavy with nostalgia, like mine, as the Savior of the world was being born nearby? Were they weighed down with health or financial concerns when that heavenly being broke the silence with a shocking, history-changing announcement from God Himself?

“Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will bring great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you. He is the Messiah, the Lord.” - Luke 2:10-11

That night in my kitchen, gazing at the tree, those words rang again in my heart. And the silence of the house no longer seemed foreboding but peaceful. God was with me. Hope flooded my spirit.

We live in a time marked by noise and the rush of constant activity. But when we allow the world to grow still long enough to push past our thoughts and emotions and listen, God reminds us of His love and reveals His glory. He speaks to us the same message He spoke into that silent field of sheep herders 2000 years ago: "I am here." 

In those rare moments when silence falls around us like snow on a winter night, what if we lingered in it? Better yet, what if we carved out time for silence? What if we waited patiently, still and quiet, for God to take us beyond our earthly woes and concerns to a place where we can truly hear the good news: Christ is born! Immanuel, “God with us.” The gift of hope given to all because God spoke on a silent night in Bethlehem. 

Merry Christmas!