A Rock Home Companion: On Silence and Clutter
When my mouth begins to move too much, and I see it eek into my friendships, and I hear myself rattling in my sleep, and give advice when none is needed, and I sing horrible songs that I hate just to cover the silence, that’s when I know.
God is speaking. Over and over again, in the Holy of Holies to the ears of my ears, He speaks.
Every day I wake up and do the same thing I did the day before, thinking about my lack of discipline. To-Do List swallows. Nothing here in this rock house has a place, and yet I sit at the computer, trick myself into thinking that if I could encourage someone on Facebook, then I’m doing the better thing. My heart holds chaos.
An overhaul is coming. I can feel it. A quietening. And a quickening. Spring is wide open, and friendships aren’t cutting it, nor are the blooms or birds, and they aren’t supposed to. I need a Messianic fix.
My daddy asked me, “You know how to eat an elephant, don’t you?
One Bite at a Time.
How do I quieten down so I can hear?
One NO at a time. One off-button. One bag of clothes in the give-away pile. One shut mouth.
It’s funny how a mini-van can reflect a heart, how we ignore its condition even though it smells like we use it to collect our trash, and oh wait – that is exactly what we do.
I spent an hour and a half cleaning the van yesterday with bags of trash, bags of things to put away, a collection of legos, a few hero-guy arms and heads, a stash of dead french fries, crackers, and possibly some apple cores. I had to take the back seat out and spray everything down, and even still I’m not sure I’d sit back there.
White-washing is lying. Ignoring truth is lying. And aren’t we going to lie when we fill our ears with the wrong news?
One listening prayer at a time,
I’m beginning to sense what I’ve been fearing. I can see now that grief is what has scared me so, that grief might be holy and ongoing, and that grief may be where resurrection beauty is found.
So this is a post about Spring, about my death and resurrection. Tell the truth; what in the quiet are you so afraid of?