But it's not total silence. I hear the dryer spinning clothes that will come out smelling wonderful. I hear the fire crackling ever so slightly in the fireplace. The occasional rumble of thunder, the dog snoring. And then there's Eva. I hear the pitter patter of her little jammied feet as she walks around under the kitchen table. She fits perfectly under there standing up, which will only be the case for a short while. I hear her sweet little voice saying, la-la-la and da-da. She brings me a plastic spoon and her shoe, little treasures that she's been carrying around. Her smile is contageous and her little cheeks are so soft. She's completely content just milling about, exploring this and that, unloading, unpacking, touching, tasting, and moving on to the next thing.
I love days like this, and I've been so blessed to be able to be home with her and watch her experience the world. Life will be so different at some point without a little one roaming about. I wonder if I'll know what to do with myself? My eyes are tearing up at the thought of it. I know that there are blessings in children growing up. Being able to witness and experience the shaping and development of people who will grow up to make a difference in the world is awesome.
I think part of me will miss the moments of silence, because, let's face it, the older they get, the LOUDER and more crazy they seem to get. Silence helps me to reflect, enjoy, think and focus on the blessings in the moment. After 4:00 when they get home from school, I feel like life is in fast-forward. The moments are there and gone before I have a millisecond to ponder them. We talk about the day, do homework, make dinner, do baths, read books, and then it's time for bed. There's normally running and screaming and fighting and playing and laughing intermixed with me trying to get things done or picked up, but not much silence. Probably no silence. In fact, if you asked the kids what silence is, I'm sure they'd have no clue.
Since moments of silence or peace don't naturally seem to exist in my house, I suppose I need to make an effort to create them. But not total silence. Quiet enough to hear small voices as they share details about their day. To notice the excitement or hurt in their voice as they talk. Peaceful enough to enjoy their laughter as they play on the floor or run around in circles. Still enough to sit on the edge of their bed when I tuck them in, praying with them and listening to whispers of secrets, hopes & dreams.
To be still in my soul, doing only what God has for me to do in this moment and nothing more.