Silence.

I crave it.

As an introvert, it’s how I recharge. Outside the safe cocoon of my home, the world pelts me with its intensity–a constant influx of stimuli demanding to be processed. I thrive in small, tight-knit circles, nourished by meaningful conversation and peaceful interactions with a few treasured persons.

I guess that’s why the Lord thought I needed a house full of boys. The noise. The clamor. The potty humor. The engine noises of various vehicles being imitated … when they were preschoolers and toddlers, the hours from breakfast to nap time felt like an eternity. We’d lived a whole day by ten a.m. The silence of those few hours every afternoon were like a slice of calm in the midst of a storm. I lived for the reprieve from the controlled chaos.

Now they are older. Away at school from nine to three, five days a week. All those things more seasoned moms told me are true. I miss the sounds of the preschool world. That cute little blue train on TV with its catchy tune. The songs. Watching the CARS movie again and again.

We’ve traded those moments for bigger, more substantial ones. Conversations about school. Friends. Resolving conflict. Managing homework. Parenting is compressed into a few hours before school and a few after.

I don’t crave the silence any less, but I am learning to appreciate it when I have it. I’m sensing a temptation to waste it now, to take it for granted, since I have more than I’ve ever had in the last decade. It’s too easy to reach for any old thing to fill the void–to open the door wide and let the crazy loud world back in.

I’d like to do better about using the silence intentionally.