The silence before the storm feels like a prayer

It’s 3:15 PM, and the air in the churchyard is so still it hums. The kind of stillness that doesn’t feel empty—just waiting. I stood by the old oak for ten minutes, watching dust drift in a single shaft of light. No birds. No wind. Just that quiet that comes right before thunder rolls in. I used to think doubt was the opposite of faith. Now I think it’s just another kind of listening.