Love doesn’t need to be loud to change the world.
There’s a quiet practice I’ve come to love—something simple, subtle, and deeply sacred.
Although I first encountered it in 2012, I haven’t always honored it consistently. A recent Facebook post about Silent Gifts re-ignited the memory, and for the past week or so, the idea has been percolating in my heart and through my words—ultimately landing here.
When I’m in a public place—a park, a store, walking down the street—I sometimes let my heart tune in to the people around me. Not in a nosy or judgmental way, but with soft awareness. A sort of heart-scan. I don’t know their stories, but sometimes I catch a glimpse of something: sadness in a person’s posture, anger in a sharp gesture, weariness etched into a parent’s face.
And I offer something silently.
If someone looks like they’re hurting, I send peace. If someone seems tired, I wish them rest and strength. If someone seems joyful, I quietly bless their joy to multiply. I don’t say anything out loud. I don’t need to. There’s a sacred intimacy in this invisible kind of giving—no strings, no credit, no audience. Just a whisper of love, passed from heart to heart.
Sometimes, I call it a silent gift.
Sometimes, it feels like a prayer.
Other times, a blessing.
It’s not all that different from those quick prayers we whisper throughout the day—“Be with them,” “Help her through this,” “Let them feel loved,” “Heal them.” But something about intentionally offering love without needing to call it anything at all feels profoundly powerful. A kind of spiritual generosity that doesn’t need language.
The truth is, it’s not always easy. At least not for me.
I live in my head a lot—schedules, goals, project deadlines, to-do lists with lives of their own. Ruminating over something I did or said (or didn’t do or say). I can get so wrapped up in momentum that I forget to look up. To look around. To see. To soften.
This practice asks me to do that. To pause the mental noise long enough to notice the people crossing my path. To remember that while I may be moving through my day, so are they—with their own griefs, hopes, burdens, and dreams.
And I think it’s easy to get caught up in how we show love. To want it to be visible. Specific. Recognized. Measurable. I’ve shared acts of kindness before—sometimes to encourage others, sometimes (if I’m being honest) because it felt good to be seen doing good. I think a lot of us walk that line. We want to be the kind of people who care… and sometimes we also want credit for it.
That’s human.
But the practice of being a silent giver—that’s something different. There’s no performance in it. No scoreboard. Just a moment of presence. A quiet “I see you. I wish you well.” Without ever saying a word.
I mentioned 2012 earlier. That year, during my Tanzania chapter, I spent a weekend at a lodge near Mt. Kilimanjaro. One of the employees was a young man who had recently graduated from college and was working there temporarily. Since there weren’t many guests, we had several chances to talk. As I was checking out, he asked me to bless him.
And I froze.
I felt unworthy—like I’d been given an elevated role I didn’t deserve. Who am I to bless someone? I remember the awkwardness of that moment vividly. Ultimately, I honored his request (even though I was uncomfortable doing so), laid my hand on his head and said, “Bless you, Elisante. Bless you and your dreams and aspirations.”
The very next day—literally the next day—an email landed in my inbox with a passage from John O’Donohue’s To Bless the Space Between Us. The timing was more than coincidence. It was a recalibration.
That moment cracked open my understanding. Blessing someone wasn’t about spiritual authority or religious standing. It wasn’t about being “qualified.” It was about presence. Intention. Love.
Later, The Gentle Art of Blessing by Pierre Pradervand deepened that understanding. He describes a blessing as genuinely wishing the best for another person—seeing their individual worth and honoring it. Drawing from sources like the Bible, the Quran, Taoism, and Hinduism, Pradervand explores how blessings can be practiced in daily life—whether in the supermarket, rush hour traffic, or at work.
Simple yet powerful, a blessing can change the way we perceive and shape the world around us—reflecting the unconditional love and deep acceptance that are needed for both global and inner peace.
Whether we call it a blessing, a silent gift, or an unspoken prayer—what matters is the heart, the intention, the vibrational energy behind it. The conscious choice to notice someone. To become, if only for a moment, a vessel of goodwill. To offer love and expect nothing in return.
For those who may feel helpless, overwhelmed, or unsure how to show up in these uncertain and heavy times—this practice is a way forward.
Because sometimes the most radical, restorative, soul-anchored thing we can do…
is to love without needing to be seen.
And right now, the world needs all of us to transmit love.
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