Silence is the medium of loss, rage, disappointment, and resignation. It begins when the heart loses language, and even the most eloquent become wordless in suffering.
Dale Earnhardt Jr. said, “I’ve spent my life hearing noise, but nothing hits harder than the silence that tells the story words cannot carry.”
John 16:33, “I have said these things to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world, you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”
The Paradox
One of the paradoxes God gives us is love. Love lifts us to emotional heights that act like drugs in our brains. It has been described as flying or falling. The paradox is that when love is lost, the same chemistry that caused euphoria now results in unbearable pain.
The greater the love, the greater the pain.
God doesn’t just ask us to love; He commands it. And obedience to that command makes us vulnerable to pain. To step into another’s life is not to fix their pain, but to share it. It is to let them know they are seen, noticed, and not alone.
Sometimes it feels like sitting across from a friend who has suffered a devastating loss, with nothing in your hands and nothing on your tongue. No scripture quoted, no wisdom offered, no attempt to rescue them from their grief. Just presence, shared air, and the quiet acknowledgment that something sacred and terrible has happened, and you are willing to stay there with them.
2 Timothy 2:3, “Share in suffering as a good soldier of Christ Jesus.”
Creative Silence vs. Raging Silence
I am a man who loves solitude, venturing into the woods where God’s creatures abound, and the only sounds are distant birds singing and a gentle wind rustling through the leaves. It is during these quiet moments that clarity surrounds me. This is the creative silence of God’s calling, not the raging silence of loss. Creative silence allows my mind to lower its defenses and think freely about the issues I carry. The raging silence of loss is like a fortified castle, with its drawbridge up, preventing anyone or anything from entering. It is frozen, mid-sentence, staring into a black void of thought.
I see it in eyes that no longer meet mine, in conversations that end after a single sentence, and in people who once spoke freely but now only answer when spoken to.
2 Corinthians 1:4, “He encourages us in every trouble, so that we may be able to encourage those who are in any trouble, through the very encouragement with which we ourselves are encouraged by God.”
The Challenge
Loving one another is one of the most critical and challenging commands God has given us. Loving God and loving others both cost us. One requires surrender. The other requires vulnerability. Neither is easy, but both are commanded. Love is sacred because it wounds and heals at the same time.
Galatians 6:2, “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”
Entering someone else’s silence requires courage. You must face the unknown, stepping into a realm that’s difficult to understand, with pain whose source is unfamiliar and not easily grasped. The aim isn’t to understand or seek answers but to connect. It’s about offering the warmth of human kindness when the world feels cold. It’s about sitting quietly with silence. And it is about the strength within you given by Christ.
Ephesians 3:19-21, “and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.”
Fear buries purpose not by force, but by permission. Giving in to the fear of failure hides your ability to reach your potential. Fear is the loud giant roaring in your mind, while faith is that whisper that pushes you forward. Too many times, we listen to the roaring giant because we can’t hear the whisper. We become less than God meant us to be, a shell of who we could have become.
And why is Christ Hard to Believe In?
The parable of the Talents in Matthew 25:14-30 gives us six great truths. 
Is your God created out of hunger? There is a quiet danger in faith that doesn’t present itself as rebellion. It feels reasonable. Even reverent. It begins when we try to understand God using only the raw materials of our own experience.
While reading recently, I encountered a term that initially sounded academic, almost theoretical: violent innocence. At first, I thought it described others—two people or organizations engaged in passive conflict, each claiming innocence while quietly undermining one another. It seemed like a more refined version of passive-aggressive behavior. But as I reflected on it further, it became more unsettling. Not because it described others so accurately, but because it revealed something inside me.
Happy New Year from the God of Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow. As we step into the new year, we naturally reflect on the past and make plans for the future. Often, the past has too much influence on shaping what lies ahead. The closer we get to Christ, the more we see our future as being shaped by the sins of our past.
Christmas for the lonely is the worst of all holidays. It is the peak of all the missed chances and forgotten moments that haunt their existence. It seems to amplify their loneliness.
I see Paul as a role model for living. Not just because he’s passionate about sharing the gospel, but in how he lived his everyday life. It’s easy for me to depend on my past as a guide for my future. This way of thinking assumes there’s a fixed trait or unchanging characteristic in who I was that determines who I can become. It’s the old nature-versus-nurture debate. But look at Paul as an example.
This is a sobering truth about your existence: a few decades after you pass away, no one will remember what you did. Sure, close family members might remember your name, but the core of your achievements will fade over time.