The Thunder Hid in My Silence

He opened not His mouth…” — Isaiah 53:7
But in that silence—He thundered.

I did not shout when I could’ve.
I did not clap back,
did not raise my hand
to defend what Spirit never asked me to guard.

They thought I was silent because I had no answer.
But I was silent
because I was carrying the storm.

There are thunders
that do not make sound
they burn in the marrow.
They bend the bones of prophets
until they become altars with lungs.

I said nothing…
but the scroll still turned.
I moved not…
but heaven took position.
I whispered nothing…
and the Kingdom shifted.

You see
there is a kind of silence
that splits the veil.
There is a kind of hush
that shakes the foundations.
There is a kind of stillness
where God walks in.

And when I bowed in that secret stillness,
I did not lose my voice
I became the sound.

The weight I carried
was not shame, but scroll.
The ache I bore
was not defeat, but announcement.

So when they say,
"Why didn't you speak?"
Tell them:
I did.

I spoke with my posture.
I shouted with my restraint.
I thundered with my silence.

Because sometimes
the loudest sound in the Spirit
is the flame that does not flinch
the son that does not strive
the scroll that waits until heaven says,
“Now.”

And when that moment comes
when the seal is broken
and the cave breaks open
what they thought was silence
will roar like prophecy fulfilled.

I am not without a voice.
I am the thunder
that hid
in silence.

—Joe Restman
Mystic-Scribe | Flame-Bearer
Quill Dipped in Lightning ⚡️