Next to a muddy river with the cicadas singing their song in the trees above, I pulled the stroller over to the edge and paused. Both girls had fallen asleep on our walk, and no one else was on the path right then. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for just a moment. Behold.
Moments that quiet are rare these days and even rarer in the days to come, I’m sure. One of my favorite parts of running was being outside before the world wakes up. Seeing the sun paint the sky in cotton candy colors and knowing a fresh start was ahead. I’m realizing running was an exercise in the literal sense, certainly, but maybe even more in the practice of being still. Instead, I’ve been running at the gym with six televisions in front of me and one on my machine. There are voices in my earbuds and closed captioning before my eyes. I can see Fox News, HGTV, ESPN and the Today Show all at one time. I enjoyed it at first–not having cable will do that to you–but now I’m missing my solitude.
I need to push the reset button on some things in my life–a little less noise, a little more white space. I want to pull out my camera and take pictures just for fun and not because I’m on a vacation or trying to make my kids smile for the camera. I want to cook something that doesn’t involve a crock pot but rather a lot of chopping and stirring. I want to make a pie with a lattice crust and get lost in a good, hard book.
My calendar wants something different. It wants me to fill up every square and say yes to every invitation. It wants to tell me I’m only a good mom if I can keep all the balls in the air, but I don’t have to listen to my calendar. I can choose to be still. I can choose to say no. Right there in the middle of the craziness, I can choose to Behold.