Maybe Silence Isn’t a No
Something has changed in me lately.
My heart is quiet.
And if you knew how loud it has been for such a long time, you would understand how strange that sentence feels to write.
The last few weeks have been a lot.
There were days when I didn’t know what was happening with my job, my home, my future.
There were disappointments.
Questions about myself.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it, I got tired of trying to control everything.
So I started letting go.
Not gracefully.
More like:
God, I can’t carry all of this anymore.
You do it.
And somehow, things started moving.
Doors opened that I couldn’t have opened myself.
Things came together in ways I hadn’t planned.
And before I even had all the answers, something else arrived.
Peace.
Real peace.
I sleep.
I breathe.
My heart feels free in a way it hasn’t for a long time.
And I’ve been thinking:
This is so much better.
Letting God be God is so much better than exhausting myself trying to predict every possible outcome.
There is just one area where I still struggle to do that.
Love.
Because when you’ve waited for something for a long time, silence can start sounding a lot like no.
And maybe that’s what I’ve been afraid of.
But lately I’ve been wondering:
What if it isn’t?
What if I don’t have to interpret not having something yet as God telling me I will never have it?
What if I am allowed to hope without having proof?
I don’t know that marriage is part of my story.
I can’t open my Bible and find a verse promising me exactly that.
But maybe faith was never supposed to mean knowing every ending in advance.
Maybe I can simply say:
God, I still really hope this is part of my story.
And leave room for the possibility that something beautiful could still be ahead of me.
Today, I was standing on a mountain thinking about God, my life and how much has changed.
And then I saw them.
A newly married couple taking their wedding photographs in the mountains.
Of course.
There I was, in the middle of all these thoughts, and suddenly there was a wedding dress in front of me.
And I smiled.
I don’t know if God was telling me something.
But for once, I don’t want to explain hope away either.
Maybe I can just let a beautiful moment be beautiful.
Maybe I can let it remind me that I don’t know everything that’s still ahead of me.
Hope.
Longing.
That tiny ache.
That little voice saying,
God, I want that too.
And somehow, today, that longing doesn’t feel heavy.
It feels hopeful.
Because lately, I’ve watched things come together that once looked completely uncertain.
I’ve watched God take care of things I spent so much time worrying about.
So maybe I don’t need to look at the one unanswered part of my life and automatically expect the worst.
Maybe silence isn’t a no.
Maybe not yet is simply all I know right now.
And maybe that’s enough room for hope.
God, I don’t know what You’re going to do with this part of my story.
But I know what You’ve done with the rest of it lately.
And for the first time, instead of asking You to take this longing away,
I think I just want to say:
I still hope it’s coming.
And I’m excited to see what You do.