6 am. The baby sleeps. So there’s just the sound of the noise machine through the monitor, the ticking clock, a squeak of a bird somewhere outside.
I used to live in these long spaces of quiet — before marriage, before babies — just me and my thoughts, and I thought lots of thoughts and had time to write them down. The noise level has gone up considerably; the writing output significantly decreased. Yet I’m convinced that this season is a good season; I would not go back.
And there are different kinds of silence. There’s the silence of there not being any physical noise, and there’s a different silence of a heart at rest, even in the midst of noises.
The silence of an orange peeled on the front steps on a 50 degree morning while an eager toddler makes anticipatory sounds at my side. The silence of leaves raked into piles and the toddler’s laughter riding a tarp full of leaves into the back yard. The silence of loving the little boy whose voice comes through the monitor as soon as I type that he’s asleep.
It means silencing the complaining voices, the tired voices, the wistful-for-long-quiet-hours voices that so easily grow in my mind, and leaving the voice that says, “Thank You.”
And sometimes that thankfulness is a whisper through tears, and sometimes it’s a rollicking song and dance of joy. But both go up to the Father of lights, from whom every good and perfect gift comes down, and by these small things I remember this large thing: He is good.
Linking up with the Five Minute Friday crew today, on today’s prompt, silence. The button above will take you to the link-up.
©2017 by Stacy Crouch