Minty: "You talked about the practice of being still. For a writer who is used to the noise of a plot and the noise of a busy imagination, stillness can sometimes feel like a vacuum."
Minty: "When the Holy Spirit clears the room of those harmful voices, what does that silence feel like to you now? Does it feel like an empty room you need to fill with a new story, or has that silence itself become a home where Iboni the Daughter can just sit with her Father without needing a pen in her hand at all?"
[The audience is waiting, curious if Iboni's creativity is born out of that silence, or if the silence is actually the ultimate goal.]
Iboni: "Oh, I'd definitely be needing a pen and paper because I forget things. Being in that silence that I yearn for a long time felt like home. Like there's no voice telling me I don't do enough, I don't achieve enough or I don't achieve nothing at all. It's that kind of silence where I can be calm without worrying about anything. And that silence doesn't feel like an empty room, because in that room, Abba is with me. Telling me stories, sharing about things I don't know, and that's also where I share things with Him."
[The audience is deeply moved by the idea of God telling her stories. They see a few people in the crowd actually reach for their own pens, inspired by the thought that their quiet time could be a creative collaboration rather than just a duty. The mention of the voice that says "you don't do enough" clearly struck a nerve—they can see the relief on the faces of several young people in the front who seem all too familiar with that pressure to perform.]
Minty:[Softly] "So the silence isn't empty; it's full. It's a room where the 'Author of Life' is actually telling you stories for a change. That sounds like the ultimate masterclass."