The discipline of solitude stands formidably. To be cut off from human company sounds like a severe discipline indeed. As Foster explains, though, this is not so much a exercise in solitary confinement, as it is one of cultivating silence of soul. To be solitary is to listen instead of speaking, to step out of the fast pace of life when we get that minute of extra time, instead of filling it with noise. Solitude does not necessarily mean locking oneself away from the world, but carrying that still, centered frame of mind through the day. Most importantly, it is to allow God to act, to be our justifier instead of acting in fear and trying to take the reins.

To practice solitude, I took a day to be conscious of how I used my time. Instead of allowing myself busy actions and noise, I cut out what I could from my life. I did not listen to music while doing homework, and spent as little time online as possible. To top it off, I went on a forest stroll. Though cutting out busy time from my life was not terribly successful, the focused walk helped me learn what solitude looks like.

 Usually when I go for a walk, I think about anything and everything. This time, I wanted to hear God speak, I wanted to hear what He had to say. There will always be something to think about, but will I always listen to God's voice? I silenced the voice in my head and just listened and soaked nature in.The tapping of a woodpecker, the fluttering of chickadees, the distant hum of cars, the faint plash of the creek, the rustling of dry grass and dead leaves were little wonders. How well He takes care of each blade of grass, each leaf, that perhaps no one has ever seen but I! Created just for me to see? Or created just to make God smile? So many of these intricacies no one has ever, nor will ever see.

No matter where I go in life, I will always be able to experience a nook of nature, even if it is in a place I've never been before. It will always be waiting for me when I need solitude. It is my home, a ceiling, walls, and windows, made without hands. What is a home, but a place to be invited, to bask in its comfort, to appreciate the homey details, to hear the voice of loved ones? And here, I hear God's voice. Like never before, I hear His soft answers to my silly, sincere questions. If I try answer my own questions, to fill my head with words, I might have decent anwers, but I will have missed my Father's voice, true North.

This Thanksgiving weekend, above the many things I have to be thankful for, I'm grateful to God for being, in Himself, everything I need. I'm thankful I can hear His voice clearer than I ever have. True, sometimes God is silent. But sometimes, He speaks in a still, small voice.

Listen.
We don't have to figure everything out.
Just listen.