The sounds of Silence

Dear God,

I am not preaching, I am just reflecting on the hard knock lessons I have learnt while navigating the corporate world, deadlines, policies, marital schedules, and the occasional existential crisis at the elevator. Dad, they say you are silent, and oh, how I fight that silence. I am always trying to make you speak, hear you speak, until life, through its sharp lessons and quiet victories, taught me that your silence isn’t your absence. It’s your power, waiting for permission.

You see, Lord, as a child, I used to be a talker, I guess I still am – sometimes). I talk in meetings, talk over people, talk at family dinners, like I was trying to win a debate championship. I thought words were tools. Then I learned they could also be weapons, or worse, noise.

The lessons began with a colleague, back in my early corporate days. The quiet one. The kind who only speaks when we’ve finished thinking. He was not rehearsing his responses while you’re still talking, like most people do, he just would not say much. At first, we dismissed him. We mistook his silence for weakness. But every time he spoke, the room tilted toward his voice. Not because it was loud, but because it was earned. And I admired him for that.

And I started paying attention to him. I remember a book I read back in the days that encouraged speaking out and owning the conversation space, and I wondered. Dad, we try so hard to be heard, to show up and represent our space. Why? Imagine all those emails we send at 1:00 a.m. out of ego. All those meetings we hijacked, thinking we were adding value, when all we were doing was repeating what had already been said, with more flair and less humility. The radar-syndrome.

Yet, you are silent. Even in the most critical situations, you remain silent. And I began to wonder, what is this power that silence holds?

I love silence, but I have not mastered it. I try and then comes criticism. Lord, unfair criticism is like an unsolicited annoying advert, it just floods your spirit uninvited. My usual first instinct is to clap back with righteous indignation and defense. But one day, I tried something new: I stayed quiet. Not in surrender, but with intentionality. And I was shocked at the effect. The critic ranted. I smiled. The room waited for my rebuttal. It never came. And something magical happened, my silence echoed louder than any rebuttal could. I didn’t lose ground. I gained it. And I was thrilled. I realized in that instance, the power silence has over noise.

Dad, fast forward to tough Mondays. You know you can start your day with anger on tough Mondays. You know the kind: when the email pings before coffee; the client changed scope again; the numbers are not adding up: when the dashboard is showing you every kind of color except green. You leave the office, get home and your toddler painted the wall with crayons and pencils. On your way home, the demons have blocked the roads and the traffic trails from thy kingdom come: Your tongue burns with responses and rebuttals. Your fingers itch to type a response, but then, this verse comes to mind: “Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent.” So, you pause. Breathe. Be silent.

Dad, silence is a teacher….

I’ve learned over the years, Lord, that silence is where self-mastery is built. When anger rises, silence says: “You are not in control of you.” When sorrow visits, silence offers a blanket of reflection. When ignorance waves its flag, silence becomes a dignified retreat instead of a war of egos.

I remember the day I lost my mum. Everyone offered words. Beautiful, clumsy, heartfelt words. But it was my friend, who sat with me in silence that I remember the most. She said nothing. She was just present. She held my hand and said nothing. That silence healed me more than sympathy ever could.

Silence is a shield…

Now, Lord, I know you know this boardroom secret. In corporate settings, silence is a strategy. The most effective negotiators? They know the power of a pause. The deal is often sealed not in the pitch, but in the silence after it. People scramble to fill silence with concessions. But those who’ve mastered the stillness? They win. Without noise. Without drama.

But here’s the real kicker, Lord. The more silent I became, the more I heard You. Not in the thunder. Not in the burning bushes. But in the still, small voice. In my intuitions. In restraint. In grace. In that divine whisper that says, “Don’t reply to that email just yet. Sleep on it.”

Silence is a form of love….

Guess what Lord, I also discovered silence at home. My spouse doesn’t need a solution every time he vents. He just needs ears, and not ears hunting for a punchline. My children don’t always need correction. Sometimes, they just need me to listen. Fully. Without investigative interrogations or bombastic side-eyes.

Now, I don’t want to romanticize silence entirely. There are moments when words are necessary. Silence in the face of injustice is not strength, it is complicity. Silence when truth is required is cowardice. And yet, even in protest, silence can speak volumes. Ask Gandhi. Ask Martin Luther King. Ask the mother who stands outside the courtroom in prayer.

Silence is a choice…

Lord, my advocacy? To see silence like a martial art. Not passive, not docile, but disciplined. A fighter knows when to punch and when to pull back. In silence, we conserve strength. We study the room. We understand intent. We strike only when needed. And when we eventually speak, it lands.

But Lord, even now, I don’t always get it right. There are days when the noise gets to me. When I can’t hold back the rebuttals. When I type out that stormy email. And then I thank You for the “Drafts” folder because it held back the storm. When silence feels like swallowing my pride. But every time I choose quiet reflection over noise, I win, even if it feels like losing in the moment. And so, Father, thank You. For showing me that Your silence isn’t absence. It is a strategy. It is a presence. It is You inviting me to rise above chaos.

Sometimes, silence is just peace refusing to argue…

So, to every colleague trying to prove their value through volume: Pause.

To every executive navigating complex deals: Listen longer.

To every spouse, in mid-argument: Breathe.

To every parent feeling unheard: Watch, and your child will teach you.

To everyone facing loss, criticism, or anger: Silence isn’t empty. It is full of what words cannot carry.

And Dad, Thank you for Silence. For in silence, I found clarity. In clarity, I found peace. In peace, I found You. And so, I am learning to speak less. To listen more. To wait longer. And so, when I do speak, I pray it matters.

This is your daughter, Lord, (Still learning to master the mute buttons in life), but checking in.