I’m no good with quiet. I crave it, desire it, try so hard to find it in the naptime moments and the late night minutes and the afternoon car rides to the parent pick-up line.
But it eludes me because I’m not really in the chase. I don’t really want the quiet. I think I’m afraid that if I slow down and get quiet and listen, I might not like what I hear.
You’re too busy.
You’ve shifted your focus.
You’re escaping into someone else’s story so you don’t have to write your own.
Is any of this familiar?
When it’s too quiet, I look for something to occupy my mind. Doesn’t have to be noise, doesn’t have to be voices, just needs to be something–a new recipe, a novel, this blog, last night’s episode. Anything to keep me from having to sit in complete silence and listen.
Really listen for His voice.
Because there was a wind and an earthquake and a fire, but He wasn’t in those.
He was in the quiet.
Writing for five minutes with Lisa-Jo is a goal I can live with. And right now it’s quiet in my house though I do wish the baby would go back to sleep so I can take a shower.