I wonder how many times today you have looked at the silence, and your heart has filled it with voices. Silence is a strange thing, it can be so loud. It whispers to us that we are forgotten, that something is wrong, that we have done something amiss. And the longer it lasts, the more it seems to confirm every fear we have. But silence is not always what we think it is. Sometimes it is simply a busy hour, a phone set aside, a day swallowed up by small necessities. Sometimes it is nothing at all. And yet we sit and listen to it as though it were a judge pronouncing a sentence against us.
But let me ask you this: who is it that holds your daughter? Who has held her since she drew her first breath? The same Lord who has numbered the hairs of her head and written her name in His book. He does not lose track of His own, and He does not lose track of your child. You have asked in the name of Jesus that you might hear from her today. That is a good and right prayer, for He invites us to cast every care upon Him, and this care is heavy on your heart. But while you wait, do not let the silence speak louder than your Savior. He is not silent toward you. He has spoken in His Word, and He speaks still in the quiet of your spirit. He says, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." He says, "Cast your burden on the Lord, and He shall sustain you." He does not say, "Cast your burden, and then take it back again and worry it to pieces." He says He will sustain you.
You do not know whether your daughter is busy, or someone is sick, or she is upset with you. That not-knowing is a deep water, and you are out in it. But a ship in deep water is safe enough if the Pilot is at the helm. And He is. You have not drifted beyond His sight, and neither has she. There is no distance, no silence, no misunderstanding that can put either of you beyond the reach of His love. Christ is not merely a harbor of refuge for fair weather; He is a port for all weathers. This weather of yours, this fretful, anxious, waiting weather, is weather He knows well. He was acquainted with grief. He knew what it was to wait, to be misunderstood, to be separated from those He loved. And He is with you now, not as a distant observer, but as one who has walked this road.
I want you to think of something else, too. Sometimes we fashion a kind of program in our minds of how things must go. We imagine what the other person is thinking, what they must be feeling, what conclusion we ought to draw from their quiet. But our forecasts are very often wrong. The prodigal son came home with a whole speech prepared, and his father never let him finish it, the kiss stopped the words before they could be spoken. The thing he feared to hear was never said, because love ran faster than his fears. Do not let your heart write a story of estrangement before you have the facts. The silence may mean nothing at all, or it may mean something very different from what you suppose. Leave room for grace.
And remember this: your daughter is not only your daughter. She is tied to you by bonds deeper than blood if you both belong to Christ. The saints in heaven and earth are one family, an undivided household, no matter how many miles or misunderstandings lie between. That is a steady truth you can lean on. Even if there were a breach, and I am not saying there is, the One who reconciled you to Himself is able to reconcile you to one another. He has committed to us the word of reconciliation. He does not leave broken things broken. He mends them. And He is mending even now, in ways you cannot see.
So let me speak a calm word into your worry. You have done what you can. You have prayed. You have placed the matter in the hands of the God who neither slumbers nor sleeps. Now let your heart be still. A child in the dark does not need to see the father's face; it is enough to feel his hand. And His hand is holding you both.
Let us pray.
Lord Jesus, You see this dear one waiting for word from a beloved daughter. You know the worry that creeps in with the silence, and You are not unmoved by it. Speak peace, we ask. Quiet the pounding heart and the racing thoughts. And in Your perfect time, grant that word may come, a message of safety, of health, of love unbroken. But even before that word comes, let Your presence be the answer that steadies the soul. Shepherd this mother’s heart in the waiting hours, and shepherd her daughter wherever she may be. For You are the good Shepherd who calls His own by name, and no one can snatch them from Your hand. We rest in that, and we ask it in Your name, Jesus. Amen.