Friday, 15 February 2013


It's been 3 days into my Lenten experience with quiet, and I love it. Although I'm realizing that my 10 minutes of quiet are not so quiet. They're still - I force myself to just sit, cup of tea in hand - but they're not quiet. My brain can be so noisy.

It's like excavating. Digging down, through the chatter, to a wiser word. Because the chatter sounds like this "there's so much to do and so little time and why do I have to do all the chores in this house and woe is me and I'm still not done that and need to add that to the list and why do I say yes to these kinds of requests..." and so on. When I dig down, here's what I hear:

There will be enough time.
There is hope.
You are not alone.
You are enough.
You are deeply loved.

I love this quote from Mother Teresa:

"We need to find God. He can not be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature, trees, flowers, grass all grow in silence. See the stars, the moon, and the sun how they move in silence. The more we receive in silent prayer the more we can give in our act of life. We need silence to be able to touch souls. The essential thing is not what we say but what God says to us and through us. All our words will be useless unless they come from within. Words that do not give the light of Christ increase the darkness."

Some photos from a magical, frosty quiet time this past Sunday morning along the Conestoga River:


  1. The photography says "AWE! AWE! AWE!"

    The written reflection sings:
    "You Are Mine"
    ("I will come to you in the silence")
    (by David Haas; HWB: Sing the Story hymnal supplement)

    Thank you for the artful beauty Rebecca.

    "Give me the back roads as my way ..." (~ by Mush)

    1. I love how you can always seem to find a beautiful song to connect. Thanks, Mush. :) I thought of you as I snapped the photos, thinking of your winter shots of the millrace lately.