My husband took the four older children on a hike and then for a swim this afternoon. It is hot and humid, especially for the North Carolina Mountains, as we were expecting some cool mountain air. Of course, we arrived during the hottest heat wave in recent history, but I should’ve just figured on that. I am beginning to accept my morbid lot in life. It’s a lot easier that way.

I stayed behind with the baby, not because he does not travel well in a backpack, but because I broke another toe a few days ago. Maybe I should see a doctor to check for magnets in my feet, but I am too leery of what the prescription might be. I walk with a limp again, but it should only be for a few more days. Again, I accept this as my lot.

The morning was unusually busy, as the baby is off his routine with all the traveling. Cranky babies are difficult, and I now remember why it is that I stay home a lot. Why invite difficulties when they find me easily enough on their own? For the past five nights, we’ve stayed in five different cities, five different beds. But it is quiet now, and as the chief coordinator of a young family, I relish in the silence. Quietness is good.

When all is still, I can listen. I can contemplate my sin, repent, and think. When it is quiet, I can remember all that God has called me to be and do. Sometimes I will stay up after the children have gone to bed, even though I must plant toothpicks in my eyelids to do so. My husband will lovingly chastise me, “Go to bed, woman!” I will refuse (in a most lovingly submissive way, to be sure) because I need to be awake without noise or duty. Surely, I am not the only one.

The Psalmist reminds us to be still and know that the Lord is God (Ps. 46). And we have the example of Jesus, who possessed a perfect temperament, leaving the crowds to be alone before God. This season of activity will soon pass, but if I plan to come out the other end a little wiser for the wear, a little silence is just what the good doctor ordered.