Wednesday, June 3, 2015

quiet down now.

I am a verbal processor. To my very core. Til I have used all the words and all the breath. I talk. And process. And work. And unwrap.

It is my way of figuring out this thing. This life. Of noticing the connection between my mind and heart in any given matter. Mundane or major. I talk.

To Steve (poor guy). To God. To friends. To myself. I just talk.

And a lot of the time it brings me to this healthy place of exposing who and where I really am. My words make me transparent. They bring revelation. Like x-rays examining my insides for cracks and breaks. God has used words to bring new life in my world. To strip away the fluff and find the core. The truth. The reality.

But May has brought something new. May has opened my eyes and heart to a place of quiet.

Not hiding. Not escape. Not shutting down.

Just quiet.

Closing my mouth and just being. Just listening. Quietly hoping. And praying. And finding.

It feels incredibly unnatural. As if my mouth is bursting to run ahead and spew every second of each day to whoever happens in my way. I desire to speak and tell and shout from the rooftops what is going on. And wear family and friends out with what I think about the constellations of life today.

But something within (or above) has brought me to a place of quiet. And stillness. And hush. Where words aren't so needed. They actually have seemed more disruptive than helpful.

And somehow upon arrival, my mind seems to have slowed a bit. Life has not stopped. All the parts are still moving. Things I would typically gab on about are still so present. But my mind is not racing. It is not moving to every what if. It has not crossed the finish line before even starting the heat. It has slowed. It has steadied.

And it has allowed for the slow and steady breaths of each day to be noticed. And felt. And celebration to be found. And leaned into. And trust to be cast out into a vast unknown. And the haze of noise that typically daunts and distracts seems a little more distant. Drowned out by waves of silence and calm.

As a teacher, I usually plan big things for my summers. I make lists of all that I hope to accomplish and check off throughout the two(ish) months that are all mine. I stuff and stuff those days to the brim with new and sun and friends and lunches and pools and trips. And it is good. But it is rushed and loud too.

I have started to make those summer lists this week. My students are making their exit along with lesson plans and grading and emails and meetings at the end of this week. And there are these two months that stand in my eyeline waiting for their filling.

And today I am trying to hold off on the noise and clutter. All the words and letters that could fill the summer list. I am setting my heart on quiet and true and meaningful and purpose. I am hoping for a summer which honors something more than myself and my plans and my minutes. Something that doesn't require talk as much as it requires love.

Because the quiet has brought a little tag-along friend. It has brought the notion that this life is not so much about all my stuff and plans and knowns. It is so much more about offering my now. My heart. My minutes and days. My unknown, silent space. And simply laying it out to be used.

So while my list looks short and a little lazy so far. I know that the Lord will fill those lines and days and minutes with the unexpected. The joyful. The selfless. The more. The quiet. Where it is less about me and my thoughts and more about Him and Truth.

1 comment:

  1. Love that! Praying that this is a summer of refreshment, reflection and opportunity. Love you!

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