Quiet. Having recently returned from vacation and some memorable time with our oldest granddaughter and her family, my memories flow fluidly like a mental photo album deliciously enjoyed, page after page. Wonderful experiences shared with Rob and Maggie and their two munchkins, Judah and Eli, will remain with me for a lifetime. One characteristic seems to have accompanied them all: Noise! Sweet noise, delightful noise, piercing, screeching noise. O, please, the time spent could not have been better and indeed could have no equal, but the soundtrack for those few days will know only selected pieces on my playlist. It makes me believe it is a good thing we raise children when we are young.
Growing up, I confess my preference for noise. I freely admit possessing only limited appreciation or desire for quiet. The radio was on, the stereo was playing, I was practicing my trombone, singing a song, telling a story, laughing at a joke, humming a tune, building and creating, playing, or working; noise was a constant companion. Furthermore, I enjoyed the noise. The quiet actually made me feel uncomfortable at times.
Time has a way of changing things, people being included among the “things.” The older I get, the more I seem to enjoy—even crave—quiet. The desire to associate it with maturity exists, but a lack of evidential support leaves me to think, “I’m just getting old.”
I do believe there is a correlation between maturity and the desire for quiet, however. When no stimulation is required, no desire for sound exists, just the pleasure of silence, pure, unadulterated tranquility. Ah-h-h-h!
Undoubtedly the noise will come; life’s realities and priorities will interrupt the calm, and the boisterous waves once more will begin to roll. Needless to say, the noise is necessary at times. But please consider the chance, the opportunity, to “turn it off,” and enjoy the quiet. Who knows, you might even hear the whisper of the Father speaking to His child.