I have been living in a state of gut-wrenching, heartbreaking loneliness. I have shared my heart’s current state several times and prayed that this season would pass. Before my trip to Interlaken, I feared this perpetual state I was in. I was hesitant even to come, thinking that feeling would overcome any joy the scenery would give me. 

Unlike others, I chose to do something I have never done before: embrace the silence. For much of my life, I have feared silence. From the moment I wake up, I drown out the quiet with music; when I walk, I make phone calls, and when I sleep, I use white noise, all in an attempt to never be amidst silence. I have been thinking about this habit I have formed for about a year, wondering if there is any root cause for why I need to escape it. 

The quiet allows our thoughts to seep in and our minds to recognize that we are alone. I decided to test this theory on this trip, and instead of drowning out silence, embrace it: no earbuds, no music, no podcasts, no calls, just me, my thoughts, the nature that surrounds me, and the presence of the Lord. 

Starting in Lauterbrunnen, I began my 5.3 miles, 5,095ft ascent to Mänchilin. I heard my heavy breathing, the cowbells; the sticks crunch underneath me. I heard the helicopters overhead as they shipped to nearby homes and businesses. I listened to the birds chirping, streams that led to waterfalls, and the wind soaring through the leaves of the trees. I heard every detail of creation, and my mind felt empty for what felt like the first time in my life. I wasn’t thinking about my to-do list, the future, or the current battles I face. I wasn’t thinking about people or school; my mind was utterly, unequivocally at rest. 

As I have struggled with life constantly throwing curve balls, I always wait for the other shoe to drop, especially if I am in a good season. My mind can never seem to rest because it is constantly preoccupied. However, today, I found rest in the sound of cowbells. Today, I found rest in the sound of hearing my lungs pump hard for me as I hiked up a mountain. Today, I found rest in the wind as it hugged me from behind as a reminder from my Father that I am never alone.

The weird thing about silence is that it isn’t a reminder that we’re alone. Instead, it’s a reminder that in the vacancy of earthly people, our Father in Heaven is among us in every element of life. He is walking with us, looking down upon us, and carrying us in our moments of weakness.