When Words Fail

When my dad died this Spring, I lost my words.

Words have always been my thing. My super power. Not only do I talk a lot, but I think a lot and read a lot and plan a lot and write a lot. Words are always swirling in my head. They come easily to me. Words tumble out of my mind faster than my 90 WPM can keep up. And yes, I have had each passage in Proverbs which cautions against too many words highlighted in my Bible.

But it’s who I am. It’s how I was created. Some craft with art or wood or stone or fondant. I use words.

When my dad went to his forever Home, for the first time in my life, the words vanished.

I spent two months this summer sitting outside, thinking absolutely nothing.

I wasn’t praying. I wasn’t analyzing the squirrels. I wasn’t writing a mental poem or processing my day. I was just still.

Quiet.

No words.

I realized, with surprise, that I’ve never done that before.

Journaling is my absolutely favorite spiritual practice, and yet journals sat empty.

Blank pages. Flashing cursors on a screen. Nothing.

I avoided social situations where I’d be required to chit chat. I just couldn’t.

Thank you notes, which I typically enjoy writing, were tedious and time consuming.

Though it was a strange and different feeling, over all it felt… peaceful.

Tonight, six months later, as I tossed and turned, unable to rest, I realized with a smile:

The words are coming back.

While the autumn colors are fading to winter white, the colors in my mind are brightening into vibrant hues.

I lay in bed and they drop into my mind, one by one, until they begin to string together to the point that the rains flood my mind and I’m compelled to write them down or else I’ll drown. It’s an exhilarating feeling, when a shower of words fall fresh.

I sit here thankful. I miss my dad so much, though I know I’ll see him again, and yet I’m thankful for God’s gift of silence and His gift of words. Ultimately, for THE WORD, which came into the world to save us. For the celebration we have of the Word this Christmas. For the ministry the Word has in my life on a daily basis. For the people who preach the Word and fill my soul. For the encouraging words of friends and loved ones.

Thank you for listening to these words. Maybe grief has given you surprising gifts as well. The gift of stillness wasn’t expected, but I’m thankful for the months of peace. For the quiet. I hope I’ve learned a new way to worship our great and loving God – to just be still and know, while not thinking about the knowing. Just being there with Him.

Just being still.