Come to the Quiet
“Come to the quiet, come to the stillness… Come to the silence of the heart of God.”— John Michael Talbot
The chapel stood at the edge of the lake, half-wrapped in fog and the first light of dawn. It wasn’t large, or famous, or polished. But it was still. And in that stillness, something sacred lingered—
like the scent of woodsmoke on an old coat, or the hush of snow in the early hours before anyone wakes.
It had no steeple. No stained glass. Just a door that creaked when you opened it, and benches that welcomed the weary. The kind of place where your soul could breathe again, where you didn’t have to pretend, perform, or push. You just… were.
And that was enough.
Come to the quiet, the Spirit whispered. Not to escape the world, but to remember what is real.
For in the quiet, the noise within begins to settle. And once it settles, the heart begins to hear.
Not every chapel has walls. Not every service begins with music. Sometimes, the holiest moments arrive in stillness—in the spaces where we stop striving and start listening.
Come to the quiet. He is there.
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