Although I'm an outgoing, talkative, leader type person, I have to have my alone time. My peace and quiet, nobody bother me time. It's sacred. It's also hard to fit into the schedule when you're a mom, wife, sister, friend, and all the rest we do as women today. But if I don't have it, I lose sight of who I am. And then I'm lousy at being all of the above.
Even Best called me crazy when I used to get up at 5 am. But that's how I used to get my sacred serenity. It was just me, my candle, and my green tea. I so enjoyed the quiet before my family woke up. The house just sounds different when they're sleeping. It's a stillness that's different than empty. Cozier. Since I teach a Bible study, this was the perfect preparation time. Writing my lesson plan on a fresh brain was a lot more effective than trying to do it in the afternoons, even if I did kick the boys outside. That's a different quiet. A quiet punctuated with, “That's MY nerf gun!” and, “I need a drink, Mom!”
Now that I'm homeschooling and our schedule has gotten all loosey-goosey, I'm no longer getting up early. It's a rebellion thing, I think. Why should I get up, when there are no lunches to make, no carpool to drive, no school starts at 8:30 to worry about? There's also no serenity. They boys are home ALL THE TIME. I'm never alone. And I've noticed I'm a bit tense around the edges. Ok, crabby a lot of the time. I think I know why. Gotta get me some alone time.
Here's what I need. Here's my version of perfect serenity.
I slide out of bed and no one notices. I grab my breakfast as I head out, but I can't wait until I get to the dock, so the first bite of my reuben goes down as I tip-toe out, being careful not to slam the screen. The mist hovering over Mill Creek is like a shroud of secrecy, ready to envelop me, give me cover. The great blue heron is in it's usual sentinel position, and doesn't flee as I arrive. He's seen me do this so many times, he allows me passage to the dock with scarcely a glance. It's too early to sail, since barely a ripple disturbs the glassy water. I untie the kayak instead and just let myself drift into that mist, not bothering with the paddle just yet. I lay back, and let my thoughts drift too. What a perfect time to talk to Him. Thank Him for His amazing creation. For the salt-murky air tickling my nose with all the memories of my childhood spent at this place. For the birdsong as they greet the morning, each other, and me, with their melodies of praise. For His love, which surrounds me every day. Thanks, God for all of this.
I allow myself to just drift, just listen. I hear the world begin to wake up. A mother calling to her child. Engines starting. The manager of the fuel station greeting his first customer. Conversations. Sound travels far over the water, and I've heard some familiar voices, too. I grab the paddle and head back to the dock. I see two not-so-little-anymore boys. Ready for breakfast. And their mom is now ready to face the day. Renewed. Relaxed from some time spent in sacred serenity.