And sometimes what comes back isn't a closed door or an open one. It's silence. A long, warm, unhurried silence that somehow asks more of me than any answer would.

I used to find that silence unsettling. I'd fill it quickly — with more words, more petitions, more explaining, as if God needed me to repeat myself more clearly before He could respond. And then one evening, kneeling in the kind of stillness that only comes very late at night, I understood something small but important: maybe the silence isn't absence. Maybe it's invitation. 🕊️

Because an answer tells you what to do. But silence asks you what you believe. And those are very different things.

I've been sitting in that for a while now. I won't pretend it's comfortable. Parts of my heart are still waiting for specific words, specific clarity, something I can hold in my hands and point to. But I'm learning — slowly, imperfectly — that trust isn't something you arrive at once. It's something you keep choosing in the quiet. 💛