Staring at the blank page, I feel unequivocally serene. No words bounding through my mind, fighting to make their permanence on paper. Instead, a long sterile hallway of nothingness.
There's always something to say isn't there? We communicate a good portion of our day with empty exchanges; militant words forcing free just to keep the silence at bay. Everyday pleasantries that aren't insufferable, just platitudinous chaos filling space.
What is it about silence that we fear? Are we afraid to sit with the delicate and intimate emotions of truth? Because silence definitely creates enough space to usher in our truest selves. The jagged pieces we hide, the crumbling façade. Our dirtied mirrors don't lie when we're forced to look at them filter-free.
So this blank page that I've been staring at all week, it nudges me into a kind and meaningful oblivion. One that reminds me that my voice should never overshadow anyone else's, that my self-importance should never be found in acceptance, and that in this time, I can posture myself to hear more acutely. I can be reassured that in listening, I can learn and understand, yet in speaking, I only recycle the things I already know.
The truth doesn't scare me, it just leaves me in quiet contemplation. No passionate commemoration, no issue of morality, just the banality of all white, and somewhere very colorful to go from here.
I am worn to the bone - sleepless nights, exhaustive to-do lists during the day, and I am only one woman.
I've been fighting hard lately at this balance of work and play. When I take time to sit and be in the moment - to breathe life into my children and nurture the greatest relationships that I have to steward - I find myself needing to be somewhere else, checking something off of the list. Yet, those simple and sacred interactions of being present leave us all so very refreshed.
Then I look around at my neglected duties, and I add to the growing piles and unfinished chores. The chores that make the tomorrows that much harder because of the extras thrown on top of the already mountainous heap.
My children won't remember the house being messy, and I won't remember the sleep deprivation, but we WILL remember the times we had together, and I long for those times to be pleasant, nurturing, patient memories.
Indi won't always wake so often in the night, the little boys won't always be so destructively curious. Puberty will pass, the grunting demands of a toddler will turn to viable dialogue, and life will go on.
So, like autumn, I will let some things fall off of me, and in the appearance of barrenness, I will thank God that this nakedness is really just a time to refine my vision. Because it's when the leaves have fallen to the ground, that you can see the substance of what surrounds you a lot more clearly.
So I choose to remain grateful, I understand this is only a season, and I welcome and embrace this beautiful chaos of being stripped to bone.