I walked through this house tonight, immersed—enveloped, you could even say—in the quietude of it all. She is off to the beach for a friend-filled, There’s-Nothing-Like-A-College-Summer getaway. (I envy her that. Might as well be honest.) He, too, is away, working a job that is filled with new adventure.
And that, dear friends, is how I find myself here alone for the night. This is the thought that occurred to me as I headed for the cozy bedroom without turning on a single lamp:
This house sure feels lonesome tonight.
But then I sat down to write and realized nothing could be further from the truth. The pond just beyond our grass has come alive and its night-sounds fill this room with life. With the porch doors open, there is a cacophony so loud and layered it swells and recedes and swells again as the bull frogs and owls and katydids make their presence known in the inky darkness.
How grateful I am that this is my world.
I think of the prayer that has been on my heart of late:
My life has gotten loud and confusing.
Please give me time. Please give me space.
And here I am in this big house tonight, my prayer—no doubt—answered.
30 Days of Grace II