The Gift of Silence

There is a quiet kind of gift that comes in simply choosing to sit — really sit — for a while, without fidgeting or rushing on to the next thing. It is not about achievement or mastery. It is an invitation to live in the moment.

I recently tried this—phone set aside, my schedule paused for the moment and rested in a stillness long enough to notice. I noticed the weight of my body on the ground. I felt the sun and air on my skin. I heard the cars in the distance, footsteps and voices of other students, distant birds in nearby trees. I smelled the pungent smell of mint from my herbal tea, a waft of green grass, and the warm smell of the earth I sat upon. I paid attention to my breathing — sometimes shallow, sometimes deep, gradually slowing. I allowed my emotions to flow over me — gratitude, restlessness, worry, peace, loneliness, joy — all the small waves of the ocean I swim in.

It reminded me of a phrase that the prophet of my church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, once said. President Russell M. Nelson exclaimed about the wonder of the works of God all around us. He said, “Do you see what is happening right before our eyes? I pray that we will not miss the majesty of this moment.”

That phrase—the majesty of this moment—is a beautiful reminder that the sacred really does dwell in the simple, the ordinary, the here-and-now. Often, our eyes (and our hearts) are trained to scan ahead, plan, analyze, and hurry. But in doing so, we miss so much of what life offers: the small sighs between breaths, the play of light on the water, the echo of a neighbor’s laughter, the quiet tug of your own soul saying, “I am here.”

I invite you to sit for a little while today, to give yourself permission to be fully present. Let your heart become an observer, not a planner. Let the world show itself to you slowly. Let God, or Spirit, speak in a hush. Let your confidence wax strong in the presence of something—Someone—greater than yourself. You might be surprised how much was always there, waiting.