I haven’t written a blog in a couple of months. I’ve wanted to… but for some reason, I’ve been somewhat “wordless.”

It’s not for want of ideas. I’ve had several, some of them were good ones, too.

I’ve considered writing about friendships, Valentines, laughter, politics (don’t worry — sanity soon returned), creativity, options, and a few other things… but every time I started to write, I found myself with a topic, but for some  reason, I was strangely wordless.

Then, I seemed to be surrounded by grieving people.

A young boy lost his father to a tragic illness. A 10 year old girl who lost her mom some time ago welcomed me into her world of pets and interestingly enough, classic rock and opera. Friends have lost loved ones.

Recently, a boy whose mother died a few years ago became upset after missing part of a recess due to a poor decision on his part. I watched as his silent anger became evident in a stiff stance and tension in his arms and neck, in silent tears that poured down his cheeks. I asked God to give me words — and suddenly I knew that He was telling me to choose silence.

So I did.

I turned to my classroom sink, washed my lunch dish, rinsed my coffee cup, and got myself a drink of water, looked back to the small angry boy to see that the tension was starting to leave, but still his silent tears flowed.

And I listened.

I listened to those tears. I heard emotions in the rigidity of his limbs. The things I heard were things that we might expect — thoughts about his life being unfair. Hard questions like, “Why my mom?” I sensed that he needed a hug — from a mom. I also felt disappointment at the fact that he won’t walk into the kitchen to find his mom pulling freshly baked cookies from the oven and pouring a glass of milk — just for him. I hurt with him — and I heard his silence, his pain, and his grief.

I heard him.

It seems to me that there are times when we may be so busy planning our answer, analyzing what we’ve heard, or anticipating how we will try to help someone that we fail to hear the cry of their heart. When words fail us we are finally able to hear — to listen.

One small blonde fifth grader seems to take it as personal challenge to assure that silence is NEVER heard in my classroom. I finally turned to him one day and said, “Don’t feel compelled to fill every silence with noise or movement.”

That night in my devotions, I heard my words echo in my heart — but they were from my Father in Heaven, “Marylouise, don’t feel compelled to fill every silent moment with noise or movement. Sometimes, I am calling you to be wordless so that you can truly listen.”

Even though it isn’t easy for us, there are times when all of us should choose to be wordless — no matter how strange it feels.

In our silence I wonder, what will we hear?