The Silence I Saved for You

Tuesday, January 13. 9:25am

I have yet to speak a word this morning.

My lips tightly shut since last night’s bedside prayer, something like “God you know, and I don’t.”

9 hours of silence later, I wake, waiting for words to come to me. What will it be today? What will break the silence I’ve gathered overnight? There are some days where I’ll wait as long as I can before saying anything, really think about what I want my words to be. On those days, I open a book whose pages never stopped chattering to one another or watch the two wood pigeons who sit together on that one branch they’ve worn themselves into- feathers puffed out like built in down coats. They’re talking about the weather; how it rained for a week straight and, after two days of clear skies and easy flying, we’re once again under the low-hang of the clouds. Will it rain again? My lingering presence in the window an unwelcome interruption. What were your first words?

I’ve thought a lot about this since the time I caught myself, 7.15am on a workday, in the spiritual battlefield of Albanian traffic. My first words used to curse out a driver for cutting me off. Is that what would come of my morning? I’ve saved up my silence for you- a man just as peeved as me? Driving is an extremely personal matter; why should the two machines between us justify such a belittling of the other’s humanity?

All the chances I missed. A deep sigh from a good rest, a good morning to the mountains that lay just beyond my curtained window, a thank you to the innocent coffee beans giving up their little bodies for my morning grinding.

Maybe it’s better to utter our first words before someone else draws them out of us. Maybe there’d be a shift- my first words, a gift. To what will I bestow? A response to my pigeon friends or a dog’s soft muzzle. A good morning to the mother at the kitchen table already deep in conversation with her Bible. Or maybe it’s not a response, but begs one. A whispered prayer no one else can hear, except a God who has his ear pressed up against your mouth. A God who listens, ready to respond to your good morning with a yes.