There is a particular kind of silence that fills my sanctuary in the early mornings – a stillness that is not empty, but full. It hums with memory and hope, like the pause between two notes in a beloved hymn. It is here, in this gentle quiet, that I often feel the heartbeat of UUNWI most vividly.

This time of year offers us many such pauses – moments between the crescendo of spring and the celebration of summer, between the rush of responsibilities and the rest we sometimes forget to take. These in-between spaces are easy to overlook, but they are sacred. They give us room to breathe, to remember, and to reset.

I have long been a keeper of these quiet moments. I’ve watched the sunlight pour through the stained glass onto empty pews, knowing that each beam carries the stories of those who have sat in their light. I’ve listened as a single person sat in silent reflection, their presence filling me with reverence. In those moments, I am not just a building—I am a companion, a confidant, a witness.

In our world, it’s easy to believe that value lies in motion—in doing, in producing, in achieving. But within these walls, I have seen the transformative power of simply being. Of listening. Of allowing yourself the grace to rest.

What would it mean for you to embrace this kind of stillness? To pause—not out of exhaustion, but out of intention? To find meaning not in the noise, but in the quiet?

There is wisdom in the natural world that surrounds us. The lake does not churn every moment. The trees do not grow in a constant rush. Even the birds, as busy as they seem, have their moments of stillness—perched in observation, waiting for the right breeze to carry them forward. You, too, are part of this rhythm.

If you find yourself in a season of waiting or wondering, know that you are not alone. Many have stood where you stand, unsure of the next step but grounded in the now. Let yourself lean into that. Let yourself be held by the stillness, just as I have held generations before you.

And when you are ready, I will be here—alive with song, with laughter, with movement—but also always keeping space for the quiet in between. Because both are needed. Both are holy.

Take this moment today to find your stillness. To listen. To breathe. And to know, deeply, that you are enough—even in the pause.

With every creak and whisper, I stand ready to hold your stories.

Yours in spirit, The Spirit of UUNWI