Friday, August 14, 2015


Oh, the sweet sound of silence. I actually wish that I was writing this entry out by hand, so that all I could hear would be the sound of pen on journal paper. 9:38 p.m., and all I hear is the hum of the fridge, the click-clack of my keyboard, and a basketball hitting cement as the neighbor boy enjoys the temperate summer evening. 

This is the first time it’s been silent since 6:30 this morning, as I was woken up from my “morning nap” on the couch by two handsome and very energetic little boys. Since that time, I have gotten kids dressed and fed. I have studied Scripture with a friend. I have answered kid questions. I have gone to the grocery store. I have fed kids more. I have disciplined. I have soothed a baby’s cries. I have hung out with friends. I have pointed boys in the right way. I have sung song after song to get my three-year-old child to take a nap. I have picked up MagnaTiles and moved couches. I have pat the baby on my shoulder while reading a book to another child. I have worked over a soapy, watery sink with my five year old. I have been a listening ear for my husband.

And now this silence is so sweet to my ear and my soul. Some peace. Oh, sweet peace. Part of me wants to stay up all night and clean up my house in peace—put all the books back where they go and file all of the papers that need to get filed and throw away all of the old coupons that have been expired for two months. And the other part of me just wants to sit here and be silent with this silent house. I just want to let the silence weigh heavy in the air, let it soak into my bones, let it press its memory on my mind.

In this peace, in this silence, I want to hear God talk. Here in this place, all I need to think about is being His kid, not taking care of three kids. Here in this silence, I can begin to feel some restoration for my mind. My mind that is tired and a bit worn today. My mind that wonders if I’m up for this challenge of raising three boys, and doing it right. This mind that thinks a lot about giving anything, but wonders if I have anything to give.

My friend Katrina, who doesn’t like dust, asked tonight why anyone would willing put themselves into a position where they were camping. Well, Katrina, I think it’s the silence that draws me. I can get lost in the kind of silence that camping offers, surrounded by fir trees and stars. I can get lost in this silence that God is offering me this night. A chance to stop and to hear the voice he’s placed inside my heart—that quiet voice that often gets overrun by the noise around me. That voice that whispers, “I see you. You are loved. You are special. You are my precious kid. Rest here in my arms for a bit, my dear heart.”

Sounds good to me.

He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
Psalm 23:2-3

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