A whole weekend?

Recently I've been thinking about the Silence of God.

Sometimes, when I least expect it, I find myself awash in the Presence of God.  Sweet and gentle, God reminds me that His love for me involves--me.

But, sometimes, I cannot find Him, cannot feel Him, have to just have faith that nothing has changed since last I knew He was near.

For many years of my life, I thought this meant that I had done something wrong, that God was withholding His love from me because He was unhappy with me.  Over time I learned that unhappy withholding is not in the nature of God, but still I wondered: Why those moments of silence?

There are lessons to be learned, of course; a faith built of perseverance through darkness and of watching God enter at just the crucial times.

But the other day, I stood in my bathroom and had a moment of epiphany.  [It would shock you, how many moments of epiphany occur in my bathroom....].  The moment said this:  When I am with my dearest friends, silence means: comfort.  Is the Silence of God any different?

And my conclusion was: No.  To be comfortable in the Silence of God is to know beyond doubt that He is mine, and I am His.

Now, this little spiritual lesson in my bathroom was real to me, due to the reality of friendships in my life that have given me tangible evidence of what this comfortable silence means.

Case in point: Emily & Aden.  Though they've moved away from me, our friendship remains, though with a bit more planning.  Hence, last weekend found me on their doorstep with a packed bag and high expectations for some good comfortable silence.

Of course, we haven't really had prolonged quality time together in awhile, so there was not much of that silence to be found.  There were however, many joyful moments of 'we're actually together!', much good conversation, and, of course, a lot of deliciousness.

As we wandered through the grocery store,

as we made preparations in the kitchen,

as we lingered over the table

and savored the flavors mingling on our plates,

we couldn't help but notice: comfort.

And as we lounged comfortably on the couches late into the evening, we rejoiced:

We have another day!

A day that began with church and Williamsport friends, 

before we landed at a breakfast joint that would only have caught our eye had we been looking for places to stay away from, if one of those friends hadn't sworn it was the place to be.

We rejoiced in breakfast done the way breakfast was meant to be done and some more of that good comfortable conversation, before we dropped Aden off at home and headed out in our bridesmaids role for some bridal shower shopping.  

Before we knew it, our whole weekend was wholly over.

I climbed into my car,

armed with more of that tangible evidence.

Real, comfortable, wholly good, these friends are mine.
And I? Theirs.