“God is the friend of silence. See how nature – trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence… We need silence to be able to touch souls. ”
Hear something eerie?
Basketballs bouncing in driveways.
Lawn mowers moving through the grass next door.
Families laughing as they walk their dogs on the sidewalk in front of my house.
Unusual because it’s only 10:00 AM and it’s Wednesday, and:
School is closed.
Church is canceled.
And today, my gym finally shut its doors, too.
We are all navigating a new reality—a shared experience that is scary because we don’t know how long the in-between will last and because when it’s over, we know the world will look different.
All that time we wish we had to read books, learn a new skill, or devote to a forgotten hobby?
It’s here.
And I think it’s going to stick around for awhile.
A couple of months ago, I went for a hike on one of my favorite trails on Kennesaw Mountain. I tend to keep to the path, but I noticed some areas were marked off with rope and a sign that said “Reforestation in progress. Please do not use this trail.”
Careful as we are, the wear and tear on the earth is still a very real thing.
For a forest to grow, it needs to be left alone. If hikers continued to trample the same paths everyday, soon the vegetation would be smashed down and erosion would compromise the existing trails. Reforestation keeps things going, so that despite trampling from feet like mine, the structural integrity of the mountainside remains intact.
As I write this post, we are only three days into our own self imposed social isolation. Weddings, birthday parties, and sporting events we were looking forward to attending will have to be rescheduled. Spring Break plans have been canceled.
But in the midst of all the “bummers,” I’m thrilled to see the sun emerging. Our neighbors are outside, and while it warms my heart to see them gardening, riding bikes, playing basketball in their driveways, and walking pets with their families, I know that I must stay at least six feet away.
It’s a season of novelty, but also a season of loneliness.
Ready or not, reforestation has begun.
Right this moment, I’d describe the way I’m feeling about this whole thing as a sort of “hopeful optimism.” I don’t HAVE to stay home with my family; I GET to stay home with them.
And while some moms are already wringing their hands over the home-school teacher thing, I’m grateful we’ve been doing some form of home school with all my kids since 2013. I’m not sure I have the constitution to learn how to start something new this late in the school year. We had a family movie night last night, and I recently reinstituted “Read Aloud” time with my youngest. I’m cooking more comfort food and making time to organize those things I’ve let go in exchange for convenience and efficiency.
So I’m optimistic, but I’m also…REALISTIC.
Bouts of loneliness are already creeping in, not because I’m actually lonely but because I’m already beginning to imagine what our lives might look like weeks from now.
Seasons of loneliness do not have to be seasons of idleness.
I think nature has got it figured out. We need to be left alone, so the rebuilding can happen. Sometimes that means figuring out who we are in a new season or figuring out what we want to do. Sometimes, we endure seasons of silence, so we can hear the whisper of God telling us the secrets of who he is and what he is doing in the world.
I’m excited to see what’s next. On a regular day, I often feel pulled in a thousand directions. I’m just trying to keep up. The hours pass like minutes, and I find myself going to bed with a to-do list that’s far from done.
But in this new silence, I can actually hear the clock ticking.
Is that how it feels for you, too? Do you feel like time has not only slowed down, but also come to a screeching halt?
For the first time in a long time, you get to decide what your own forest habitat (your home) is going to look like. The forest floor is filled with life-giving nutrients that feed the plants and trees growing there. And your home is like it.
What needs time and space to grow in your home? Is it time to teach your kids to set their own alarms, make their own breakfast, and put on their shoes—all by themselves? Is it time to organize the pantry? Catch up on the laundry? Or just have a real and meaningful conversation with the people you love?
Do you know how much time I used to spend in the car driving my kids to practices and rehearsals? I just got all that time back.
I get to regrow all that was lost.
And breathe.
There’s no reason to rush into what’s next.
Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t.
“How many times have you noticed that it’s the little quiet moments in the midst of life that seem to give the rest extra-special meaning?”