Menu
Sometimes it's too quiet
Mothers, especially mothers of young children (note the plural), long for it and fear it, all in the same breath.
A moment of quiet.
In fact, as soon as mom exhales the sigh of relief that silence has finally descended, she inhales a fearful gasp because all of a sudden "it's too quiet!"
Quick as a flash, mom drops whatever she is doing, and hurries to wherever her suddenly too quiet children were last seen. Experience has already taught her not to call out to them, just in case they're actually sleeping, her heart's true desire. However, all too often, her fears are realized and kittens are slathered with Vaseline, multiple rolls of toilet paper are unrolled or the bathroom sink is overflowing.
Some things never change. In fact, with my children, this phenomenon still holds true. Oh, they don't slather kittens with Vaseline anymore, but I can always tell when things aren't going well with them. They are suddenly too quiet.
The phone doesn't ring. No one shows up on the doorstep. It gets quiet, too quiet. And when it does, we know something has gone amiss.
We have a non-interference policy in our relationships with our children. (After all, our youngest will be 28 next month, is the father of two and, I suspect, awfully busy rerolling toilet tissue.) They make their decisions the same way we do, based on the best information available at the time the decision needs to be made. And, like us, sometimes they make bad decisions. They know that we are always there for them, good times or bad, but they get to decide if they want our input. It works out well. They have their autonomy, we have quiet, and they know they always have a fallback position.
I fear it is a chronic condition, this withdrawal into ourselves when trouble comes. I still do it myself. I get real quiet, too quiet.
Prayers go unspoken, Scripture lays open on the desk, the pages unturned for days on end, and I know my Father is waiting, his child all of a sudden "too quiet."
Usually, my reticence is the result a bad decision, perhaps a snap decision, made on the fly. However it came about, I find myself withdrawing from the one source of hope and help.
When I finally make my way back, and I do so more and more quickly the older I get, I find him all-sufficient, with a ready word and a full measure of grace. whatever state I'm in.
I wonder how many times I have wandered off, like a little lamb, grazing contentedly, following nothing but the next sweet blade of grass, only to find myself so far afield that I have no idea how to make my way home?
I wonder how many times, in a fit of petulance, I have stomped off, in full rebellion, taking back my life, my agenda, my desires -- nagating and neglecting those of my Father -- only to find myself tossing slop to the pigs, my life consisting of nothing but filthy rags.
All it takes is a moment of quiet for me to remember the source of hope and help. And all he is waiting for is for me to break that silence, to call out his name, to turn the last corner on the long road home, falling not to the ground at his feet where I belong, but into his arms, receiving my Father's embrace.
"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NIV)
Things you won't see in heaven: Greener pastures
Audio from KNGN 1360 AM: