At this very moment, at 8:38 on a Friday night, I am curled up in my bed in my pajamas. There’s a fluffy white dog snuggled up next to my calf, and my best friend is sound asleep on the bed next to me. It is silent in this room, outside of the hum of our fan. And at this point in my life, I’m convinced there’s no better way to spend a Friday night.
Quiet snuck up on me. Anyone who knows me and the family I was raised in understands that it hasn’t always been this way. I spent a large portion of my life believing that I was an extreme extrovert, someone who thrived on being the center of attention.
Until one day, I realized that it actually exhausts me, the center of attention bit. It stopped feeling like me being me and started feeling like work. Like something I needed, even if it required me to be less than my truest self. I believe some portion of me worried for years that if I started being my truest self, the people around me might realize how truly boring I am. If I stopped being loud, I might lose my voice. My ability to be lovable and important and seen.
God’s been teaching me something kind of big about Himself these past few years, and thereby something kind of big about me. I’ve read my whole life about the whole “still, small voice” bit, and about how I’m made in His image. And yet, I’ve spent much of my life clinging to this idea that if I’m to have a voice that has an impact, it must be loud and forceful enough to echo.
But what if my voice is to be still and small, just like His? Do I believe that His still, small voice diminishes the bigness of His heart and His mission? If I don’t, why do I believe that my still, small voice diminishes the bigness of my heart and my mission, which should just be an extension of His?
What if it’s possible for me to be both quiet and heard?