All in Quiet Time
Oh, the sights, sounds, fragrances, tastes, and textures of my Czech family Christmases! Clove-studded oranges. Fresh, sappy, evergreen boughs bound into garlands and wreaths. Almond crescents, colorful lights, flannel stockings, crunchy peanut brittle. Fresh-baked hoska (braided sweet bread). Hot chocolate. Roasted chestnuts. Christmas caroling outside our front door. I didn’t yet understand most of the carols, but I sang along.
In my first childhood home, our freshly cut Christmas tree stood in the middle of a platform of two four-by-eight-foot panels hinged together. Attached to the platform lay a figure-eight train track. My older brother crafted scenery, a town, and papier-mache mountains with tunnels to scale. We enjoyed many hours playing and trying to keep the cat from chasing and derailing the train! A few presents were placed on the floor next to the train display. As a traditional Czech family, we celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve with a meal of homemade barley soup.
For some reason, I was allowed to choose the family Christmas tree when I was about eleven years old. We planned a Saturday in early December—packed a sack lunch, poured hot chocolate into the Thermos, bundled up, and piled into our late-model station wagon.
Have you been at a restaurant and the noise level is so loud that you cannot hear the person seated right next to you? You can see their mouth moving, but you have no idea what they are saying. Frustrating, right?
I treasure my collection of vintage books. One of these tattered treasures holds an honored spot on my bookshelf—the thirtieth edition of Prayer by Ole Hallesby, a Norwegian theologian.
What happens when you first have an awareness of waking up in the morning? To where or what does your mind turn? A dream you had? Your overfull to-do list? Your cell phone? Your current crisis? Your work commute in heavy traffic? Your health concern? I’d have to answer yes to all of these at one time or another.
Working my way through my garden the other day, pruning, picking, reveling in the care God took to create such beauty—how blessed we are! How little I know about the growth process, except that it begins with a seed.
Bits of my tattered prayer journal’s cover stick to my hands after holding it. The yellowed pages identify needs of those dearest to me. It also contains various prayers I turn to when my own words fail to express my heart.
Ecclesiastes 5:2 jumped off the page at me. I realized it referred to public prayer, but how often did my private prayer time consist of me doing all the talking? I determined I would spend time listening.
I sat behind a man whose hat displayed the phrase “dig down deep.” I thought, What would it look like for me to dig down deep into God’s Word?
Proverbs 2 enlightens us on how and where to start digging.
One night awake at 2 a.m., as I lay in bed, I tried to go back to sleep. I could hear a little bird chirping outside my bedroom window. I thought you cannot sleep either.
One reason I love our church is singing our praises together each Sunday. Whether we are on key or not, we have the privilege to vocalize our love for Jesus. Some enjoy quiet hymns others fast-moving praise songs. If we are truly showing the Lord how much we love Him, it’s worship!
What moves you?
I mean … moves you to action … compels you to do something.
Anger? Injustice? Anger can motivate.
As I longed to be out on the mountain trails this summer, the following quote by John Muir, writer and naturalist, caught my eye:
“People ought to saunter in the mountains, not hike! …people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, ‘A la sainte terre, to the Holy Land.’ And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers.”
If Jesus took the time he needed to get on board and ready for the day, how much more do we need to do the same thing. Spiritual readiness does not happen by accident, we must be intentional about it.
“Mommie, my heart hurts. I think it’s Jesus kicking it because He wants in!” my granddaughter announced on the way to school. Did she feel preschool anxiety or had God created an opportunity for a spiritual conversation?
She listened to Jesus’ words, believed them, and embraced them. It was Mary who later acted in belief of Jesus’ words that He would be killed in Jerusalem and raised to life.
My first job as a journalist was working the night shift at a newspaper, so part of my job was to write obituaries. The reporter I was replacing gladly handed me the obit basket. He didn’t like writing obits and even created a standard template so you could fill in the blanks. I remember looking at the basket and flipping through the forms. Sure, they had basic information, but—call it the inquiring mind of a rookie reporter, or a nudge from God—I wanted to know more about each person’s story.
The sound of silence… Do you know it?
There are times with God though… when it is too quiet.
