He had said that I shouldn’t take this for granted, the fact that we are family and he loves me and I love Jesus.
What he meant, what I heard from the most quiet man, was that I should be quiet. Stop talking about faith and God and Truth.
Quiet is easy for me.
I prefer quiet corners and early morning stillness and peaceful-easy-feelings.
I thrive on peace-making and not causing a stir.
But the kind of quiet he wants is a lie. The heavens declare, the rocks cry out, and the little ones, my own precious children, can’t be silenced about nose-on-your-face Truth.
So it’s a noisy, deafening quiet – this chasm between us. Just a shaky rope bridge of relation.
I love him with all filial affection but not with the silence he wants. Not with stuffed glory or muted praise. I will love loud, though I cherish quiet. I will be uncomfortable and I won’t fill the chasm with feeble pleasantries.
Because, much as I love quiet, some things are worth shouting.