But I still my soul and make it quiet,
like a child upon its mother’s breast;
my soul is quieted within me.
“Mom, will you help me with my English essay?”
I have come downstairs with a novel in hand intending to eke out half an hour to read and unwind. I know I have to send out one email, and follow up on one phone call, and read one document before I can call it a night. But I’m hoping I can dispense with these efficiently and then settle in to some leisure time.
I sit down near my daughter and ask with a bit of trepidation, “What do you need?”
“Can you just sit here with me, and then read it when I am done?”
I can do that. And so we do our homework together in company and it feels good. And my work is no longer such a burden. I tell her about the best part of my day, and she tells me a funny story about hers. We relax into companionable silence and even though my novel lies untouched, I feel refreshed.
I marvel at the grace discovered in the quiet, in my daughter’s presence, in the simplicity of sitting together. I sense not only the tension of the day leaving my body, but also God’s care pouring into my parched soul. I didn’t know how thirsty I was. And before I knew, God was already filling my cup with blessings.