“Healing Silence,” Ensign, July 1980, 68
It was early spring, and rain had pelted our area for weeks. Each morning as I looked at the darkened clouds, my spirits dipped lower.
One day, to escape a depression that was engulfing me, I decided to drive out to our farm to see just how serious the rain situation was. I parked my car at the gate, slipped on an old pair of boots, and started the climb up the mountain that borders the farm. At the top I sat down on a rock and watched the heavy clouds push their way across the valley.
Suddenly I was aware of the absolute, uninterrupted silence around me. No people, no roaring cars, no jangling phones. I noticed tiny heads of the season’s first flowers, the lushness of the grass, and the clustered tree buds just beginning to burst open. A robin landed on a nearby post and began to sing.
As I watched the robin, the low-hanging clouds above me broke apart. There, spanning the valley, appeared the most beautiful rainbow I had ever seen. Perhaps it was the silence, perhaps it was the unexpected rainbow. But my Heavenly Father seemed so close that I felt if I just reached upward, I would surely touch Him.
As I walked down the mountainside I had a renewed faith that all things work out for our own good; the rain-sodden fields no longer seemed such a threat. I had recognized God’s hand in the creation of this world, and I knew all was well. Aney B. Chatterton, Soda Springs, Idaho