Today, my soul is muffled and dull, with a kind of weighted and dusty silence. Words seem not to carry the weight they should. Music is too sharp and even stories have lost their pull. I crave quiet and seclusion.I’ve lived long enough not to be thrown much by this subtle shift. I know it’s a passing thing. I’ve been here before and I’ll be here again. At first, it is unsettling—what is the matter with me?—but then I recognize its landscape because it is the kind of place that pulls me towards reflections like Ecclesiastes, which at times like these is a cold drink to my soul. The sage’s words strip the brambles and brush from my life and remind me of what is real. They remind me that there are undulations to life, that things relentlessly move and shift. And that it is good to sink into where I am rather than what has passed or what will come. Because God is here. His joy and grace are for now, this moment. And that is simply all.
And I remember to wait and see what there is to learn, to stand a bit in the quiet and listen more. In many ways, I’m glad to be here, with this chance to walk slower, linger and gaze a little longer.
(Image: mine)