When I came home yesterday, the girls were all down for a nap. Rick was going out to run some Mother's Day errands, so I was left to a quiet house.
Hmmmm...
What to do, what to do...
I could clean...nah.
I could exercise...nah.
My ways to irresponsibly use my time are limited these days, so I walked up to each door of the girls' rooms and listened. I soon figured out I didn't need to press my ear against the door. What was going on was loud enough to hear if I just sat down right in the middle of the hallway.
From the twins' room, I heard the sweet rhythm of breathing. From Gabriella's room, I heard the clickety clack of her doll house toys and that precious little voice acting out the roles of the pretend family (the Griswolds). For the longest time, I just listened...
What a treat, to listen and hear in return those remarkable moments of life. They are proof. Proof that life is real.
Yet, for some reason, we choose not to listen. We allow ourselves to be distracted. We allow ourselves to be so busy we don't give ourselves the opportunity to listen. It's a privilege really, but do we treat it as such?
Instead of looking for God this Mother's Day weekend, perhaps I will try listening for Him.
Love,
Mary
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