Silence is uncomfortable. We’ve all been there—sitting in a room when the conversation suddenly dies, and within seconds the awkwardness is thick enough to cut with a knife. We cough, fidget, pull out our phones—anything to avoid the quiet. But silence isn’t empty. It’s full. It’s where our deepest thoughts rise to the surface, and more importantly, it’s where God often speaks. Scripture reminds us of this in 1 Kings 19, when Elijah expected to find God in the wind, the earthquake, and the fire, but instead heard Him in a gentle whisper.

I experienced this firsthand in 2015 during a two-week rafting trip through 150 miles of the Yukon River. There were no crowds, no cell towers, no technology—just water, sky, and silence. At first, it was unsettling. My mind was restless, searching for something to fill the void. But as the days went by, the quiet became a gift. I noticed the rhythm of the river, the colors of the cliffs, and even a permanent shale fire burning along the bank. With distractions stripped away, focus and presence came naturally. Silence shaped me in ways that noise never could.

I see this play out again every morning at home. I work from home, and before my family wakes up, I spend the first part of the day with the Lord—in Scripture, prayer, and quiet reflection. The house is still. My heart is open. But then the alarms begin: first my wife’s, then my son’s, then my daughter’s. Within an hour, the house shifts from peace to joyful chaos—school runs, work meetings, TV, devices, board games. It’s a beautiful kind of noise, but compared to the stillness of the morning, it’s overwhelming. And yet, the silence I had earlier anchors me in the middle of it all.

The truth is, silence doesn’t come naturally. Our culture trains us to fill every gap with sound, distraction, or productivity. But practicing silence, even in small doses, is vital for spiritual formation. It’s where God reveals what’s really going on in our hearts, and it’s where His whisper becomes audible. Start with small steps: turn off the radio on your commute, take a walk without earbuds, or carve out five minutes before bed with no phone in sight. It will feel awkward at first, but that discomfort is part of the process. On the other side of the awkward, silence becomes sacred.

Silence isn’t wasted time. It’s not “doing nothing.” It’s making space for God’s presence, for His gentle whisper that cuts through the noise of our lives. Whether it’s on a remote river in the Yukon or at your own kitchen table before the alarms go off, silence is never empty—it’s where God does some of His deepest work. The invitation is simple: carve out a pocket of quiet this week, lean into it, and see what God might whisper when the world around you grows still.