When Silence Speaks
Rediscovering the Beauty of What We Take for Granted
We were just a few hundred feet from the highest point in the contiguous United States—Mt. Whitney. After eight arduous days and 110 miles of trekking through Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks, we had finally reached the summit, deep in an expanse too remote for even the strongest cellular signal.
It wasn’t the first time we had spent a week backpacking without any way to communicate with our families. And it’s always a surreal experience—to be so completely off the grid, unable to hear the voices of loved ones, unaware of what’s happening in the world, and uncertain of the kind of world we would be walking back into.
But as we reached the 14,500-foot summit, something unexpected happened. Our phones, long silent, suddenly sprang to life, vibrating and ringing in staggered intervals, almost as if each of us were receiving our own unique Morse code messages. As my phone connected to service, I looked down at the screen, reading texts and then listening to voicemails from my wife, my kids, and my parents. Tears began to stream down my face.
There was a sweetness and tenderness in their voices that I had too often overlooked or failed to fully appreciate.
I have written before about the importance of solitude—how essential it is to step away from the noise and chaos, to embrace stillness, and to allow peace to permeate our souls. I can’t emphasize enough how vital the disciplines of stillness and solitude are for our mental and emotional well-being.
But in abstention, there is also longing—a deep ache for the things we may have taken for granted. We yearn to be reunited with the simple beauty of a voice, a touch, or quaint moments we once failed to fully appreciate. And in all the ways we have neglected the richness of what is right in front of us—whether it’s listening to a song, sharing a meal, or enjoying the presence of those we love—we come to understand that the most ordinary experiences are often the most profound, shaping our days in ways we only recognize once they are out of reach.
Question
What would I long for if I suddenly had to go without it? How can I cultivate more gratitude for the ordinary yet profound experiences in my daily life?
Peace,
Brandon
Grass Beneath Our Feet
The conditions were dry. Very dry. So dry that a man-made fire had grown into the fourth largest in state history. And while the blaze was relatively close to our 112-mile section of the John Muir Trail in California, it only affected us in the evenings as smoke filled the valleys.