I was reading somewhere the other day about how deafening silence can be. I am ashamed to say my momma-brain cannot remember where I was reading about this lonely version of silence, I would love to give credit where it is due! Hopefully someday I can update this post with who that particular author was. Words though, unlike names, have a way of staying with me. I am certain that one day I will remember her words with sadness as I walk into that empty stage of life, when I wish the silence were filled with the migraine-inducing noise that is my three children. But. That time is not now. Now I find the noise and chaos of our lives deafening. I want to drown out all the noise with my pillow and muffled screams some days. I kid, but really, sometimes pillow screams are necessary for survival mommas.
Everywhere I turn there is noise. In the echoing house we just moved back into, in the outdoors where it is acceptable to scream all together at the top of your lungs, in my 5 year old’s excited reading voice, in our workshop where Joel is lovingly building a side income…one very loud power tool at a time, in the insane bustle that is going out in public with three little people during the holiday season, in the 5am wake-ups and 8pm tuck-ins…we are a house of noise. Some days I join in, I crank the music, we sing at the top of our lungs and run races and yell until the air hurts our lungs…but most days I am dreaming of quiet forests, deserted beaches or noise-canceling headphones…side note, how many places do you think it is acceptable to wear those in public? When I feel like I will explode into monster momma if we don’t have one moment of silence, I am often blessed with a reminder of who these little women and this young man are becoming. While it may be unruly and wear me thin, the noise is never mean-spirited or rude. It is the making of joyful, passionate, energetic and creative souls.
In November we left our camper after 13 months on the road. It was hard…just as hard as it was to make the decision to move into it to begin with. Failure pierced through the air with each loud rip of the tape as we unpacked our belongings in the house that now felt more like a noose around our necks than a shelter over our heads. I was more than a little overwhelmed, this was nothing like what we had planned. Help me be thankful Lord, help me be home. And then this month, surrounded by stacks of books and games and the things that are yet to find their home, and so much noise and chaos, I read those words, deafening silence, and I was overcome with the understanding that this place, this stage, it is so fleeting. It is so unspeakably small, and yet so profound. These temporary walls, they are not so important as the precious people making all that clamor inside of them. Be them metal and bumping along the road or of stucco and on a foundation, they are just walls.
After a year of lessons learned about what makes a home, that in our togetherness lies the essence of our family, I clearly still have some work to do on my heart. I have no idea what our move means for our next few months, years, or this poor confused blog. If I never write another post again, I had to share this humble message with you and yours as you celebrate Christmas. It is only one day, of one year, it is so fleeting, it is so small. Yet, I pray you are overcome with how incredibly profound this season, this day is. I’m sure your version of Christmas will be very different from ours. Maybe it will be full of silence, and lonliness. Maybe it will be bursting with the chaos of family and all that can bring with it. I pray that wherever it finds you, whatever walls surround you, that you feel the blessing of Christ’s love as He came into this world in the form of a noisy babe, a perfect man, a king of kings to save you and ultimately call you home.