One of the only things I enjoy about getting up early in the morning is savoring the peace and quiet that lies over our neighborhood like a warm blanket. Although we live on a cul-de-sac, our house backs up to a much busier street, and is positioned cheek-by-jowl with houses on either side. Not far away a major thoroughfare connects our town with the neighboring community, and the railroad tracks snake around behind our development. The noise of all the people around us (to which we contribute no small amount of shrieking) is often considerable, especially on Friday and Saturday nights when local ruffians drive around, windows rattling from the bass of blasting sound systems. Sometimes I really miss living in the Duckabush valley, with our house nestled down in the forest, far from the things of man.

Or maybe I’m just jealous that my car stereo doesn’t make the windows rattle.

David steadies the kayak for his brother …

Some days (I keep a rather erratic schedule) when I wake up, nobody is stirring, not even (as in the famous Christmas poem) a mouse. Other times I find Kathy asleep on Doughboy (our couch), if she’s stayed up reading blogs or posting an entry on our blog. I turn on her mattress pad heater and usher her off to bed, hoping that the kids will sleep in and let her rest. During allergy season I often start sneezing while I dress in our bedroom, and wake Kathy up with a dozen or two of my explosive sneezes.

This morning, I stepped out onto the front porch and found it already light outside, as the summer equinox solstice approaches. A low cloud cover and absence of breeze enhanced the hush that was disturbed only by a single bird, chirping his heart out from the top of my neighbor’s roof. I wondered if my neighbor, who works odd hours as a fireman, appreciated that little bird.

The intrepid Daniel, setting off on an historic voyage …

In these moments of silence, I find, in spite of my weariness, a contentment that seems to extend all the way down to the core of my soul. For this moment, as I stand on my porch, all the concerns and worries that clamor for my attention are silent and still. I don’t have to worry about being a husband or a father or an employee or a friend or a church leader or even a handy-man. Instead, I find my heart drawn to God, in thankfulness and appreciation of His awesome goodness to me and His worthiness to receive praise and glory and honor. As the Psalmist wrote:

“Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” (Psalm 46:10)

Sarah takes no chances when it comes to flotation devices …

Whenever I hear or read that verse, I think of a pool of water, shaded by trees, nestled among the rocks, with only the tiniest ripples emphasizing its tranquility. It is in moments like this that I can forget my own self-importance and revel in the abundant sufficiency of my God, far above my loftiest thoughts. Whatever happens today or in the rest of my life, Jesus, all by Himself, faithful and true, is enough for me.

With the fountain on, this pool has more than ripples …

All too soon the spell is broken and the neighborhood begins to wake; already I hear the slamming of car doors and traffic on the road behind our house. My cell phone buzzes with a message from my carpool buddy. I check the time on my phone and realize that I need to get moving if I’m going to catch the train. And so a new day begins; but the memory of that deep, quiet moment is something I treasure tightly, smoothing the bumps and jolts out of my way and calming my spirit, all the way to work and throughout the day.

Tim

Project 366, Day 136

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