Into Silence

DUSK IN THE FOREST by Roberto Nieto

When I was a girl I went to an overnight camp in northern Michigan. Year after year I went, until I was too old to go back. I considered applying to be a counselor, but never did, and now the camp has shifted locations and doesn't look at all like it used to when I was younger.

But back then, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. It taught me reinvention and self-discovery. Camp brought me experiences that were beyond any I would have imagined for myself -- love, heartbreak, travel, adventure, laughter, leadership, silliness, restfulness -- camp helped me become more than I was.

I remember one night standing a ways outside of my cabin. I was one of the older campers by this time, and we had a smaller cabin with more freedom and privileges than others. It was late at night, past the final bell, and the cabins had gone dark. They were spread out across a large wooded area, so far I couldn't even see them all. But on those nights when the air was clear, you could hear everything. And those were the nights I would sing.

"Amazing grace… how sweet the sound…." 

I stood on a small bridge, maybe three large steps across, and sang into the night. It wasn't always the same song.

"Scarlet ribbons… scarlet ribbons… for her hair…" 

But I always sang. And looking back I don't know why I was never nervous or anxious. We were a fairly large camp, maybe a hundred heads laid down those nights. But when I sang it was just me, on a bridge over a stream, singing to the night.

I miss that girl. That girl I was on those early evening nights. Those camp years blur together; I don't even remember how old she was, much less how she managed those moments. How she always found a song, always sang into the silence.

One of my 31 things this year is to spend a whole day in silence. To be honest, I haven't given that one much thought since I first put it on my list. Even now, I'm surprised to be writing about it. But I think that the girl might have added that one to the list. One day for us to be together on a bridge over a stream, listening to the wind while the lights go out.

Life will always have an audience. Music and ministry have taught me that. But the moments that change us, that carry us from one shore to the next, are the times when we speak into the silence first. Standing on a stage, in an airport, at a chalkboard, under a spotlight, in the beat of silence--that is where the discovery happens, where we reinvent ourselves.

What memories from your childhood do you carry with you? What experiences helped you become who you are today? 

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