Intro:
I’ve always been the strong one—at home, at work, in faith. The one people come to for answers, comfort, and solutions. But lately, I’ve been sitting in a kind of silence that echoes deeper than I expected. When the texts stop, when the calls go unanswered, when temple appointments fade into the background—I start to feel it: even the strong get tired.
This week, I found myself in a strange place—surrounded by truth, but pierced by silence. I sat at my desk feeling the weight of isolation. No messages, no check-ins, no unexpected “Hey, how are you?” from anyone. It felt like my soul was stuck in a paused moment, waiting for a response that never came.
But I remembered Alma 26:27:
“Now when our hearts were depressed, and we were about to turn back, behold, the Lord comforted us…”
Even Ammon and his brethren—men of God—were depressed. These weren’t weak men. These were spiritual giants who had seen miracles, preached the gospel with power, and endured rejection. And still, they felt what I’m feeling now.
Tomorrow, I’ll walk into the Oquirrh Mountain Temple after more than a month. I’m not going to ask for miracles. I’m going because I need to be in the presence of Heaven. I need to let my spirit breathe again. I need to feel my Father’s love, even when words fail.
Quote for Reflection:
“Your silence is deafening.” — The Fault in Our Stars
But maybe… God’s silence isn’t absence. It’s invitation.
“When Silence Speaks” — Oquirrh Refrain
When silence came like falling snow,
And all the noise had ceased to be,
I felt a pull, a quiet glow—
The temple gates were calling me.
At Oquirrh’s base I bowed my head,
Not for answers—just for peace instead,
A quiet place where tears are shed,
And unseen angels softly tread.
Inside the stillness, soft and wide,
The Celestial Room embraced my soul—
I reached to write, with God as guide,
Yet someone’s name first filled the scroll.
No knock, no text, no morning sound,
Yet still I stood with faith intact.
Some bonds may sleep beneath the ground,
But truth remains, and light comes back.
Not every path must be explained,
Not every bond can bear a name—
But in that light, I still remained,
And walked back out, no longer flame… but flame.
A Gentle Addition (Post-Poem):
Before I left for the temple that day, my hand wrote a name I didn’t expect. It reminded me that sometimes God places people in our hearts not by accident, but by design. I won’t name them here. I’ll just say this: I’m grateful for the quiet nudges that guide us back to love—even when words are few and time is short.
Sometimes, the name written in silence is the one Heaven hears the loudest.
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