MISSION UPDATE: Silence

Chia in Scripture memory verse class

Lao coloring before supper

P'Nurse (Social Worker) helping with homework

Girlsssss

I heard the door creak open and then one dark eye was peering in at me.

I strained to try to make out who it was but couldn't tell until I heard the little giggle. It was Fahasi. If you've heard her laugh once, you don't forget it.

I called out, telling her to come in. She quickly obeyed and, as always, her feet smacked hard against the tile as she walked. Throwing herself into me, she held on like we'd been apart for a long time rather than an hour.

And then suddenly her giggles turned to tears. I wasn't sure if I was hearing right, and I couldn't see her face to verify because it was buried into my shirt. But the sounds coming from her had abruptly changed and I knew we had a problem.

I sat down and pulled her to me so I could make sure she knew I was listening. "What's wrong?" I asked. She sniffled and then when she tried to talk it came out in the tortured way words tend to when a person has been stifling sobs.

I gave her a few minutes to calm down. I sat quietly beside her and brushed a few fingers along her arm as it rested on my leg. Slowly, the convulsive gasps subsided and her breathing calmed. I looked down as she dried her face.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" I asked again. She looked up at me and a smile broke out across her face. Her response wasn't what I expected.

"I don't 'member." Her giggle sneaked back onto the scene. "I don't know why I cry." She shrugged and hugged me again.

I'm pretty sure I let out a little laugh because these kids sure do take us on a wild ride as they navigate how to live with their emotions. Sometimes we scratch our heads in confusion and other times we throw up our hands in defeat. And then there are times, like this one, where it all works itself out without our help.

I like those times. And yet, far too often, I steamroll right over them.

I easily fall prey to the lie that I'm needed as a rememdy to every problem around here. That I've always got to have the right words and the right ideas or the right solution. Sometimes I exhaust myself trying.

But the reality is, more often than I realize, I need only sit alongside them to bring the quiet they need in order to hear from God. He's the ultimate sooth-er of frayed emotions and fragile composure and sometimes silence is what He calls me to.

Many times, actually.

Over the course of my life I've spoken a lot of words. Too many words. And I've written during the times I couldn't speak. I'm certainly not eloquent but I've mastered the art of talking when there's no need to.

I see tears and I want to fix it. I hear a fight and I want to intervene. I recognize pain and I think I need to be the tranquilizer.

I'm starting to be intentional to notice, though, and I'm seeing a trend. The times I'm mostly silent are the times God seems to speak to them the loudest.

I think John the Baptist said it best when he said, "He must increase, but I must decrease." John 3:30

Sometimes problems don't need a solution. Sometimes they just need silence.