THE QUIETNESS OF BEING ALIVE

Some experiences leave you with nothing but silence, and sometimes, silence is the most sincere form of thanksgiving.

There are moments when life becomes so fragile that even the thought of tomorrow feels like a privilege. Moments when the body grows weary, the mind loses its language, and the soul sits somewhere between fear and surrender, hoping only to see another morning.

I have been thinking about life lately. Not the grand, elaborate kind we spend years trying to build, but the quiet, ordinary life that often escapes our appreciation. The mornings we wake up without a second thought, the simple pleasure of walking, the comfort of a meal, the sound of our own laughter, the ability to close our eyes at night without fear of what the next few hours might bring.

Sometimes, it takes an experience you would never wish upon yourself to understand just how precious these little things are.

There was a moment recently when everything seemed to fall apart. A moment when my body felt unfamiliar, when strength became a distant memory and the world around me grew unbearably quiet. I remember the helplessness, the uncertainty and the strange loneliness of being unable to do the simplest things for myself. I remember wanting to make sense of it all, but having neither the strength nor the words.

Even prayer became difficult.

And that is perhaps what I remember most. Not the pain itself, but the silence that came with it. The kind of silence in which you have no beautiful words to offer, no elaborate prayer to recite, no strength to explain what you are feeling. You simply exist, vulnerable and exhausted, hoping that somehow, somewhere, grace will find you.

I wonder how many times we have mistaken the ordinary for the insignificant. How many mornings we have hurried through, how many sunsets we have barely noticed, how many opportunities to simply be alive we have treated as though they were guaranteed.

We make plans, postpone happiness, carry burdens, chase things and worry about tomorrow. We forget that there is something profoundly beautiful about being able to experience today.

I am not writing this because I have suddenly found all the answers to life. Neither am I writing because everything is now perfect. There are still dreams waiting to be fulfilled, prayers waiting for answers, uncertainties waiting to make sense and parts of life I am still figuring out.

But something about the experience has made me want to sit with life a little longer.

To appreciate the quietness of a peaceful morning. To be grateful for the strength to stand, walk and breathe. To enjoy a meal without taking the privilege of eating for granted. To embrace the people I love a little more sincerely. To stop rushing through moments that I may one day wish I could revisit.

And to God, I have no grand speech.

Perhaps He heard the prayers I could not utter. Perhaps He understood the tears that never found their way down my cheeks and the fears I could not put into words. Perhaps, even in those moments when my world seemed to have gone silent, I was never beyond His understanding.

Today, I am choosing gratitude. Not the loud kind that requires an audience, but the quiet kind that lives in the heart. The kind that makes you pause in the middle of an ordinary day and whisper, 'Thank You for allowing me to see this one.'

I do not know what tomorrow holds. None of us really does. But I hope to meet it with a softer heart, a little more patience, a deeper appreciation for the people and moments that make life beautiful, and a renewed understanding that being alive is not a small blessing.

Some experiences break something within you, but they also leave you looking at the world differently.

And perhaps, after everything, I am learning that life does not always have to give me something extraordinary to make me grateful.

Sometimes, another morning is enough.

Another breath is enough.

Another opportunity to live, to love, to hope, to pray and to become is enough.

I am still here. And today, that is my thanksgiving.

— Livia_writes ✍🏾🇲🇼