He Was the Noise

I went on a soul fast,
not for answers—
but for silence.
To sit with God,
to hear the whisper
just beneath the chaos.

No music.
No TV.
No scrolling.
No noise.

And yet…
there he was.
Louder than ever.

His name echoed in the stillness.
Every word he spoke,
every time he called—
it got louder and louder.

He had always been the noise.
I just couldn’t tell,
because I kept the volume up—
distractions on full blast,
numbing layered over ache,
clutter over clarity.

But in the stillness,
he roared.

He became the soundtrack
I didn’t know I’d memorized.
I thought I was fasting from the world.
Turns out,
I was fasting to face him.

God didn’t have to yell.
He let his voice rise,
so I’d finally know what needed release—
what still held power,
what healing still had to come.

Sometimes,
the loudest voice in a silent room
is the one we’ve never grieved.

And now,
I see.
I fasted for my inner child.
I fasted to hear God…
but first,
I had to hear the grief
I buried beneath the noise.