The Virtue of a Quiet Day

I've been in my office for a full hour today without any student knocking on my door, without the phone ringing, without even the little bell that rings for new email sounding in my ear. It is a quiet day.

I need quiet days. This month they've been rare enough; parents have called to share concerns about what's happening around their children, students have found me and asked me to share their playtime, and both my dear friend and colleague Marty Chapman have been called on to make decisions about our program.

But today I can listen. Today I can hear the still, small voice that guides me in ministry. Today's largest task is writing letters to our senior class, reminding them that the church cares about them long after they leave our doors. And because it is a quiet day, I can hear God's guidance for my words.

I am not afraid of quiet days. They do not mean I am doing any less work, and they are no less valuable than a day full of sound and laughter.

My students need to see me modeling an acceptance of and an eagerness for quiet. God needs to know of me that I can be grounded in silence and stillness, waiting. My own mind needs quiet to bleed into it.

Today is a quiet day.