It’s Black Friday, but I don’t venture out on a quest to buy more stuff on a day after giving thanks for blessings I have. Instead, I awake to coffee served bed side in my favorite cup. Coffee steams and an announcement is made: “I’m taking the kids away for 32 hours. We’re going Christmas shopping and catching a college basketball game. We will return Saturday night. Enjoy your solitude. I love you, and you need this.”
Groggy, I blink and attempt to process. Coffee has yet to jump start my brain. I quickly glance at the clock, and see it’s already 8:30. My man let me sleep in as well. THIS is love. I grin and swing legs out of bed while overhearing excited monologues, “Swim trunks, check! Toothbrush, PJs, check!” A few more packing instructions from dad, and swift hugs and goodbyes are exchanged. Back door slams, and they’re off.
Silence. Pure silence.
I sit on empty couch for nearly 30 minutes, listening to nothing. No whizzing darts, no TV programs, no fussing. My spirit needed this time more than any tangible gift. I trudge back upstairs and snuggle back into my bed and read. I read a book for which I do not have to prepare lessons, and I bask in the pleasure of that.
One chapter away from finishing, and I decide to switch activities. But, there’s no agenda to follow, no schedule of tasks that must be fulfilled. I pull out a few Christmas presents and get them wrapped, adorned with fancy ribbon and all. After packages are placed neatly under tree, I decide to decorate our second tree and finish decking the halls.
I listen to worship music, and a lyric from “Rescuer” by Rend Collection pierces deep, “He is pasture for the weary and rest for those who strive, Oh the good Lord is the way, the truth the life.”
Striving—-Incessant striving makes me weary. Have I set a good enough example for an adult child who is ready to spread wings? Lord, teach me to be more gentle with middle child’s tender heart. Help me balance grace and truth. Lord, show me when to hold tight and when to let go. I journey to each child’s room and pray, each one at very different stages. Prayers echo through quiet rooms—important intercessions that could never be uttered if not for “aloneness.”
Thankful for uninterrupted time with the Lord, I shift gears. Decorations are hung and boxes stored away, I begin to tackle the mess our home is after three days of no school. Attempting to clean the house mid-holiday break with the kids home is as futile as shoveling the sidewalk ten minutes into a blizzard.
Even though these tasks may not seem relaxing, I am filled with joy. I chuckle as I pick up darts, 68 to be exact; yes, I counted. Ironically, the last statement uttered to the little one before he left with dad was, “Pick up your darts before you go.” Sixty-eight nerf darts askew in every corner of my home—behind doors, one stuck in floor vent; they seem to be multiplying. But, I smile and bask in the silence. Sixty-eight darts that represent the whirlwind our home typically is, full of feet landing hard on floors, squealing, screaming, fussing: “Don’t shoot me or I’ll punch you!” For 32 glorious hours there’s no TV blaring sports, no darts whizzing by my head, no arguing. Glorious isn’t a strong enough adjective.
I even have a free minute to bleach stained coffee cups to make them look new again. As I bathe in the silence and cherish the calm, I can feel my soul being made new again as well—frustration, impatience, weariness, all bleached clean. It’s okay to NEED time alone. It doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t mean you love your spouse and children less. In fact, I love better when my spirit has been replenished.
Thirty-two hours after the return to my house full of life, I find time to read Polar Express with youngest kiddo until he falls asleep. I stroll into middle child’s room and read Proverbs and listen, truly listen without distraction, to the thoughts of her heart. Stroll to living room and enjoy the warm scene of softly lit Christmas tree while I visit with husband (pretty sure he’s only listening to the game) and discuss the itinerary of the coming week. Later, I brew tea for the oldest who had to work late tonight, and I sit and hear her tales of adventures with friends over the break. I can pour myself out to loved ones again, only because I am full. Pouring forth never happens from empty vessels.
Tomorrow I return to schedule, the fast pace of motherhood, and teaching full time, but it all seems less daunting when there has been genuine rest. I can’t stop grinning a joyful grin. I’m nourished, my home is Christmas cozy, and my family is well loved.
I love better when I rest. I give thanks for a husband who knows what I need without me speaking a word because my pride is too much to admit I NEED a break. Breaks are not for the weak; paradoxically, rest and solitude make one stronger. Even Jesus, the very son of God, slipped away for solitude. How foolish I am to not do so more often.
