On one of my many pilgrimages from my apartment to the library, I came across this sight:

We are the branches, He is the vine.

This branch was dead. The first word that came to my mind was “withered.” I think it reflected my current feelings of my spiritual life. I felt like I was withering.


In the past, when I felt like I was withering, it was usually because of noise. People around me are always searching for some sort of external stimulation: television, music, talking, eating—whatever they can find to fill space-time around them. They have lost the art of silence—the blank canvas of life. That’s another discussion. My point is that in the past, I found myself spiritually parched because of excess noise. This time it was different. This time I had not enough noise. This time I had grown complacent.

I felt the usual uncertain, unguided longing in my heart and suddenly realized that I hadn’t spent much time lately with Jesus and I sorely missed Him. I was shocked at first because I had been surrounded with so much silence and then I realized that in the face of pure silence, I too had sought other things to clutter the canvas of life.

Odd: when I am surrounded with other people’s clutter, I make room for empty space. When I am surrounded by empty space, I splat whatever cheap paints I can find onto my canvas. The freedom of silence is what we were made to live in, but we do that so poorly that one begins to wonder if true freedom can ever be achieved. Thus begins my next challenge over summer: I make room for God in the midst of other people’s clutter quite well; now, can I make space for Jesus in the midst of my own clutter?