(Not So) Quiet Time

When I left to go to the store, the sky was gray, but I thought there was time to get in and out before the rain.  I forgot that I live in Florida.  I sloshed back to my car with the groceries and made the short drive home.  In my driveway, I decided to sit for a moment to see if the storm would pass and save me another soaking.

As I turned off the engine, I realized this was the perfect opportunity for a quiet moment with God.  I settled in.

Me: I am being quiet.
Brain: Ooooh!  We could blog about this.
Me: Shhh.  We're being quiet.
Brain: We should take a picture of the raindrops on the windshield.
Me:  Okay, just a quick one.  Then we're being quiet with God.
Brain: *starts composing a blog post*
Me: Stop that!  We're missing the point!  This is the whole problem with blogging! 
Brain:  Oh!  Wait!  We should blog about THAT! *starts composing new blog post*
Me:  Aaaaah!  I suck at this!

I decided to try harder, so I pulled out every "getting quiet trick" I could think of.  I breathed slow and deep.  I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of the rain.  I opened my eyes and observed the drops cascading down the windshield.  I thought random thoughts about how one drop stays still until it joins with others and finally begins its journey (okay...so part of my brain was still blogging, but it was getting quieter).  Then I thought, "God, I am willing to see Your love".  

And at that moment, even with my brain still buzzing in the background, I felt a smile stretch across my face - one of those smiles you just can't stop - and I felt tears welling in my eyes and I knew He was loving me AND my nutty, noisy, brain.

Jenn is a book-reading, quietly nerdy introvert who has, one choice at a time, managed to completely surround herself with chaos.  Wife to one incredible man, and homeschooling-mama to three crazy-awesome boys, life is almost never quiet...but in each day there are moments - brief pauses in the crazy - and it is there that she finds God.  He is in a quiet breeze through the trees, in a one-on-one conversation, in a lingering glance at a sleeping child's face.  It is enough.