Learning a New Language

image by Kristina Flour on Unsplash

 

The visitor was worried that we might not find enough to talk about.  My son, who knows me well, reassured them.

“Oh, you won’t need to worry about that.  My dad always has things to talk about.  It won’t be quiet at the table.”

I didn’t hear the conversation, but I learned of it later.  With a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, he related the words he had said.

I’m not sure whether I should be proud or embarrassed.  Is he saying I’m a good conversationalist?  Or is it just that I talk too much?

I didn’t ask him.

Recently I saw a quote, attributed to an obscure person I’ve been unable to pin down in my searches, that caught my attention.  Actually, it grabbed my heart (and, to be honest, my guilty conscience).

“So, if you are too tired to speak, sit next to me, because I, too, am fluent in silence.”
(R. Arnold)

I guess it’s appropriate that this R. Arnold character can’t be found.  It reinforces the veracity of the words—at least, to me it does.

No biography.  No social footprint.  No online following.

Just fluency in a language I don’t understand.

I could never make his claim.  I don’t understand the inflections, the accents, the syllables, of silence.  Because I fill the air with words.  Thousands of them, perhaps, in the course of a day.

I’m less proud of my son’s words than I was when I heard them.

I want to be a person who can sit in silence with a friend who is hurting.

I don’t want to fill the air with empty noise.  I don’t want to see friends’ eyes glaze over as I tell another story they’ve heard before—or worse—one they have no interest in, whatsoever.

And yet, the Lovely Lady and I often sit in silence, sometimes for hours at a time.  The old preacher who married us would have laughed to see it.

He thought he could tell who the old married couples were in any setting.  They were the ones who had nothing to say to each other.  In a restaurant, he loved watching the young couples excitedly yapping to each other about every detail of their day—of every new sensation they had discovered—reporting every word their friends had said in an embarrassing situation.

Then, almost gleefully, he would point out the couple nearby who sat silently, drinking their water and eating their burgers.

“They’ve run out of things to say to each other!”

And often, he might be right.  But, not always.

Not always.

Silence can bring us closer to each other than conversation.  There is a bond in quietness.

As I write this, I’m sitting in a coffee shop surrounded by people.  People talking. They are conversations about faith—about children’s activities—about professional matters.

There is nothing wrong with communication using words.

But, silence…

Silence is a language in itself, one learned by long practice; a language mastered by the heart and not the tongue.

I sit quietly (for once) and realize that I want to learn this language.

Perhaps, the dinner table is not the time to practice my mastery of it.  But, I’m going to work on that, too.  Others might want to (as the red-headed lady who raised me would have phrased it) get a word in edge-wise.

Mr. Carlyle was right in his assessment:

“Speech is of time; silence is of eternity.”
(from Sartor Resartus, by Thomas Carlyle)

It’s time to get started on eternity.

Silence, they say, is golden.

I wonder if there’s a Babbel course to help me learn faster.

 

 

“Here lies as silent clay Miss Arabella Young,
Who on the 21st of May 1771
First began to hold her tongue.”
(Epitaph on a grave marker in Hatfield, Massachusets)

“The words of the reckless pierce like swords,
but the tongue of the wise brings healing.”
(Proverbs 12:18, NIV)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2024. All Rights Reserved.

Well, I’m Here

Quiet, I sit and ponder, how in the dark, sacred night my thoughts run rather more to the profane than the sacred. 

I wrote earlier today about  being thankful for gifts; a friend suggested just moments ago that it’s time to be thankful, and not a time for making more requests.

Oh, how I want to sit here in the silence and just rest, coming away from the noise and ado, as the Teacher implored His followers to do. 

Do you bear a heavy burden?  I will give you rest.  Just come.

Well, I’m here. 

I’m here, but I don’t feel very rested.  The noise in my brain is still playing at full volume—reminders of missed deadlines—accusations of things I have promised and have not done. My head spins with the dissonance.

Yesterday, I said no to a request from a friend.  Today, the answer is still no, but my heart begins to push back against my head, arguing the merits of acquiescing.  Guilt, and fear that the opportunity may never come again, play havoc with my spirit. 

Loved ones are ill, one near death, and I resist the tears of sadness that threaten to overflow.  Others need help, but won’t accept what is offered and I hold back tears of frustration at their stubbornness. 

I sit in the dark and quiet of the night with the maelstrom spinning out of control inside of me.  Maybe this isn’t what He meant when He said to come away.

Perhaps it is not a physical place He calls us to.  Perhaps, His rest also comes in the middle of the busy marketplace, in the traffic jam on the freeway, in the heat of a disagreement with a colleague, or spouse, or parent.

Perhaps the quiet place is not a room we can manipulate into a restful locale, with comfy chairs and soft music,  but it is a place where He still calms the storms and asks us to trust Him.

Tonight, in this quiet place, I’m saying with that dear soul who needed His help all those years ago, “Lord I trust You.  You’re going to have to fix the part of me that doesn’t.” 

Like His friends who thought they were going down in the storm, I trust Himquietingthestorm enough to shake Him awake and believe He can still quiet the wind and waves.

If He will, I’m certain that He can.

It’s enough.

Time to rest.

 

 

 

 

Rest, and be thankful.
(William Wordsworth ~ English poet ~ 1770-1850)

 

For thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”
(Isaiah 30:15 ~ ESV)

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2015. All Rights Reserved.