quiet evenings

I know the semester is in full swing when one evening after another finds me tucked on the couch, a blanket wrapped around me, the house silent except for the even breathing of the baby coming through on the monitor and the vehicles driving by outside. The later bedtimes of summer vacation or holidays are done away with and routinely the children are all snug in their beds by 7:30pm, some with small lights and books and others asleep before I have even finished reading out loud to them.

The baby gets settled in his bed.

And then re-settled.

(My high-maintenance little man, I think to myself upon re-settling #4 or #5.)

Then I sneak downstairs after a final whispered good-night to my biggest kiddos. As I descend into warm light, I smile about how there is at least one lamp on in every room. It reminds me of when Daniel and I first were married and we quickly realized that he would go around turning lamps off while I went around turning lamps on:

"You're not even in that room," he would chuckle.

"But our house looks so much friendlier with lights!" I would insist.

He's a good man. He lets me leave lamps on just because he knows I like it.

By the time the babies are all in bed, I am usually very tired. Elliot is almost 10 months old and in these past 10 months I know for certain that there is not one single night when I have slept more than 4 uninterrupted hours, and the majority of nights the most is 2. Yes, he is my high-maintenance little man.

(Somehow this doesn't bother me, though it does exhaust me. I guess I'm not too concerned about whether or not he'll ever learn to sleep through the night. I feel pretty certain he will.)

With the quiet of the night hours engulfing me, I pull out a book I am reading or I do a small project or I fold a load of laundry or I watch a recorded show like Downton Abbey or Barefoot Contessa or I catch up on email. It is peaceful and calm, which stands in stark contrast to the hubbub that is most of my day.

The truth is that I used to have such a bad attitude about these many nights I spend without Daniel here. Tonight it suddenly struck me how much I don't resent this routine any more-- not because I don't miss Daniel's company or never wish we could have more time together (I always do!), but because the Lord really has helped me over the years to find perspective, contentment, and joy in even such small matters as this one. I'm thankful that He keeps chipping away at the selfishness in me. He's a good Father.

Tonight, Hattie Big Sky and a hot cup of tea are my companions of choice.

It's inevitable when all is still that I become infinitely more aware of blessed I am. The fret and fear melt away. What was I so bent out of shape about earlier? I wonder. I don't think I can even remember.

And then I think to myself that this must be why the Lord tells us to be still and know that He is God.

Just stop.

Stop striving and doing and crowding.

(Ironically enough, I'm not sure I would do such a great job at carving out these consecutive nights of solitude and still if it were solely up to me.)

And listen.

God-- the God of all, the God who stood before time and who will endure after-- wants to speak to me. He wants to whisper words of hope and assurance. He wants to give guidance and and leadership and wisdom. He wants to pour out refreshing and faith. He wants to reach down and mend the most broken parts, the ones that I sometimes think will only ever be broken.

These quiet evenings have actually become quite precious to me.

How thankful I am for what Jesus does with them.