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Autumn Stillness — Lessons from Falling Leaves and Slowing Seasons

Autumn has always felt different to me. The mornings are quieter, the air has that crisp edge, and everything around me seems to be whispering, slow down. The light changes too—it softens, almost as if God Himself is dimming the brightness so we can rest our eyes and our souls. What strikes me most this time of year is the way the trees let go of their leaves. They don’t fight to hold on. They don’t panic about what’s next. They simply release. Every leaf, no matter how bright or how fragile, eventually drifts down in its own timing. And the world doesn’t see it as loss—it sees it as beauty. That picture has been sitting heavy with me lately. Because if I’m honest, I’m not good at letting go. I hold on tight to plans, to fears, to expectations of how I think things should go. Sometimes I even cling to old hurts because, in some strange way, they feel familiar. But the trees remind me that letting go isn’t the end—it’s part of the rhythm God built into life. Ecclesiastes 3:1 says, “...
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When God Feels Silent

 


“Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations. I will be exalted in the earth.”— Psalm 46:10 (WEB)


Some days, God feels close. I can pray, I can read His Word, and His presence seems real and comforting. But other days… I just can’t.

Right now, I’m in one of those seasons. I don’t feel like praying. I don’t feel like opening my Bible. Even writing this is hard because the words feel heavy, and my heart feels tired. And yet, I know I’m not alone in this. I’m not failing. Silence doesn’t mean absence.

The Bible is full of people who experienced silence, too. Abraham waited decades for a promise. Joseph spent years in prison, wondering if God had forgotten him. David cried, “How long, Yahweh? Will you forget me forever?” (Psalm 13:1 WEB). Even Jesus, on the cross, cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46 WEB).

If they felt the silence, maybe it’s okay that I do too. Maybe God is present even when I don’t feel Him, even when my prayers don’t flow, even when I can’t open the Bible.

Sitting in the Silence

I wish I could tell you I know how to handle this. I don’t. Some mornings I sit in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind spinning with worry. Some nights I lie awake, wishing God would speak, wishing I could feel Him. Most of the time, I just sit in the quiet.

And slowly, I’m learning: that stillness itself is not wasted. God can meet us in the quiet, in the emptiness, in the waiting, even when we can’t lift a single word to Him. Sometimes, silence is the space where trust is formed—not by what we do, but by who God is.

Even when I can’t pray or read, I try to remind myself: God’s presence doesn’t depend on my feelings. He doesn’t wait for me to perform before He shows up. He is still faithful. He is still near.

What I’m Holding Onto

Right now, the little I can do is just breathe and acknowledge Him in the simplest ways:

  • Saying one word, quietly: “Help.” Or “Lord.” Even that counts.

  • Remembering past moments of God’s faithfulness. Looking back reminds me that He has never left me.

  • Noticing small things—light through the window, the sound of birds, a gentle breeze. Sometimes these are the whispers of God when my heart is too tired to speak.

I don’t have the energy to do all the “right” things. And that’s okay. God doesn’t measure my devotion by activity or productivity. He just wants me, here, even in the quiet.

The Tension Between Feeling and Truth

The hardest part of silence is that my heart doesn’t always believe what my mind knows. My feelings scream, “Where are You, God? Why aren’t You answering?” But I try to remind myself: silence does not mean absence. He hasn’t left. He hasn’t abandoned me. Even if I don’t sense Him, even if I can’t pray, He is still faithful.

Maybe trust grows not in understanding or feeling, but in simply showing up, even when “showing up” means doing almost nothing at all.

An Invitation in the Quiet

If you’re in a season like this, I want you to know: it’s okay if you can’t pray. It’s okay if you can’t read your Bible. It’s okay if you just sit there, feeling nothing. You are not alone. God is still with you.

Think of it like seeds under the soil. You can’t see them growing. You don’t hear anything. But something is happening. God is at work, even when it’s invisible, even when it’s quiet.

So we sit. We breathe. We whisper one word if we can. We remember that God is near, even when we can’t sense Him. One day, the silence will shift, and we’ll look back and see how God was carrying us all along.

A Prayer in the Silence

Lord, I don’t feel You right now. I can’t pray, I can’t read Your Word, and it feels heavy. Please meet me here anyway. Remind me that Your silence does not mean You’ve left. Hold me in this quiet, and help me trust You even when I can’t feel You. Amen.

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