The quietness of God

By Mia Pohlman

The joyful hubbub and busy-ness of the holidays are over, and we are in the midst of the quiet of January. I think January has much to teach us in its calm: it's in the quiet that time and space are made to hear God more easily.

We have a quiet God who affects change over thousands of years: A God who comes to his people through grand gestures, yes, and also through small voices. A God who comes through a Jewish woman from a village to show He is for the marginalized who have no voice. A God who comes as a baby to grow, change and wait. A God who comes through fishermen, and the likes of you and me.

Two of my favorite stories in the Old Testament show this quiet side of God. In 1 Samuel 3, Samuel is asleep when he is first introduced to God. Three different times Samuel hears his name called in the quiet, and after getting up to ask Eli what he needs, his mentor gives Samuel the tools to engage in dialogue with the Lord for himself. Samuel does, and receives his first prophecy from the Lord.

In 1 Kings 19, Elijah waits on the mountain for God to speak to him. He waits through an uproar of strong winds that crush rocks, he waits through an earthquake, he waits through a fire, and he doesn't recognize God's voice in any of this chaos. Next, in a "tiny whispering sound," however, Elijah knows God's presence and is available to be in this presence and listen to this soft sound, only because he has taken the time to do so.

Maybe quiet is not necessarily an absence of noise, but a choice to use the time that we have to still ourselves and take a break from the noise. Quiet is time to slow down, to rest, to reflect. Quiet is time to be still and know that he is God.

A few years ago, I used a journal that had Scripture verses written along the bottom of each page. One day, I needed a bookmark for the book I was reading, so I tore off the corner of one of the pages to mark my spot in the book. The verse on the page I tore my bookmark from listed qualities of God's character, but the only words that tore off on the ripped piece of paper read simply, "The Lord is." I've kept this little shred of paper to use as a bookmark for that sweet reminder. In the noise of life, as well as in the quiet of January, all that really matters is that the Lord is. We can live in that assurance.