I wake up to silence.
I part with my dream world and rise to reality.
How can it be that I have woken before my children? Why aren’t they clamoring over my exhausted body, demanding their vitamins, breakfast, or simply asking to “sleep” with Mommy?
I hear a thud and see a small head bobbing up and down on the other side of my window. I venture to peek into the happenings unnoticed.
And then I see him.
He’s wearing his Daddy’s shoes. He squats low to the ground and peers under a large flower pot.
He’s on a bug hunt.
And he’s wrangled his little sister into it. He’s showing her worms with “two rings on their bodies” and “pinchy” bugs. He and his shovel negotiate with the earth to release more of its curious creatures. His satisfaction with the deal wanes and they move on to other “jungles” of our yard, investigating tree-climbing ivy, morning life crawling beneath the rose bushes, and the small cracks and crannies that camouflage many wakeful spiders. I’m captured. I wander and wonder with them as their voices lead me down their morning adventure. My own memories of childhood are replaced with a small smile on my face. I can feel it there, creeping up to take the place of the tired creases of my mouth that usually greet me when I am awoken before my time.
The cool morning breeze soothes me back into adulthood, but the smile remains.
Ah! Where has my love for curious things gone?! When did I lose a wonder for all things unique? Or rather, when did all things unique become so familiar that their call to discovery was lost in the busyness of paying bills, feeding family, and managing life’s moments?
And there my answer lies.
Too much stuff. Adult responsibilities that pull me from the things my heart really
longs to do. Too many pied pipers on the same path, playing their sweet tunes, leading down rabbit trails and away from the true melody of the heart, of my heart.
Not this morning. This morning the silence greets me. And the voices of my children, deafened to the call of this deceiver, follow the songs of their hearts- to learn, discover, explore- to spend their lives enjoying the creation surrounding them, finding pleasure in it’s beauty and intricacies.
They aren’t worried about unmade beds. Or messy rooms. Or wearing shoes that fit along their journey.
The adventure beckons, and with faith like only a child can wield, they are off.
And so am I. My two and three year olds have been my teacher this morning. Their sweet conversation has drowned out the deceptive pipers in my head- the ones who tell me that the tasks are important, and not the people. The ones who say the moment is to be managed, and not enjoyed.
This is the silence that beckons me this morning. Not the silence of my children, but the silence of my own self- my expectations, my self-demands, my ideas on importance, my to-do list.