Ryan's Ramblings

The heavens proclaim the glory of God; the skies display His craftsmanship. Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make Him known. They speak without a sound or word; their voice is never not heard.
— Psalm 19:1–3, NLT (alt. rendering)

There’s power in a pause — in a silent moment.

That moment before he asks her to marry him.
The hush before the curtain rises.
The rest in the song that makes the next note matter.

Beethoven understood that. He didn’t just write music; he wrote silence. Those rests between the notes weren’t empty — they were everything. They made the melody breathe. They gave beauty time to land.

Our lives have pauses, too. The quiet between prayers and answers. The silence between diagnosis and healing. The space between what we hoped for and what we see. Even in the pause of grief, when God seems quiet — He’s closer than we know.

We often misread silence. When someone we love hesitates — when affection meets quiet — it can sound like doubt. A pause can feel like distance or indifference.

But that’s not the nature of God. He’s never not there.

Between the final words of Malachi and the first cries of Matthew—the long stretch between what we call the Old Testament and the New—heaven went quiet for four hundred years. No prophets. No angels. No new word from God. Just stillness. The people must have wondered, Where are You, Lord?

Yet—as Fleming Rutledge reminds us—

“Through centuries of waiting, the promise did not die. The silence of God is never the absence of God.”

God had not left. He was simply pausing. And in that pause, love was gathering itself for the greatest rescue the world would ever know.

This is where Romans 8:28 becomes more than a verse — it becomes a way of seeing: “In all things God works for the good of those who love Him.” (NIV)

Even in the silence. Especially in the silence. When it seems like nothing is happening… something is happening. God is working. Even in the pause — He’s weaving, aligning, redeeming.

The silence between the Testaments wasn’t absence — it was anticipation. The stage was being set for the Word made flesh, for the cross, for the empty tomb, and for the Spirit who would come to dwell within us.

Maybe that’s where you are right now — in a pause. Nothing seems to be moving. Heaven feels still. You’re waiting for the next note.

Take heart. The same God who occupied those four hundred silent years is filling this moment, too. He isn’t absent; He’s arranging. He’s not ignoring; He’s preparing.

He lets the music rest so that when it begins again, you’ll know that it’s His song. He holds His breath so the next note can come as life itself. And that Song has a name — it’s Jesus.

He pauses… but He’s never passive. Even in the silence, He sings—for all creation tells His glory. God is never not singing (Psalm 19:3).

And because of that… so can we.