The house was silent. Quiet. Blissful.
Even if you have only one kid, you know how noisy a house can be. There's a tv on, music going, people talking (or bickering, if you have more than one kid), just noise in general. To have a house that was quiet was incredible. Having the cat curled up on my lap kicked it up a notch: peace.
Funny how much I enjoyed that quiet, yet I'm still struggling with a God whose "first language is silence", according to St. John of the Cross. I pour out my prayers and wait. He is good, but He is still.
I am not as frustrated as I was awhile ago with this. Maybe part of that is because my depression has eased, and that sense of hopelessness that came with it has gone. But I still yearn to hear God, and He in His goodness and wisdom withholds His voice from me.
Catherine de Hueck Doherty, who knew a thing or two about prayer and suffering, said, "Listen to God’s speech in his wondrous, terrible, gentle, loving, all-embracing silence." Tough task.
I wish I could have that piece of peace that I had for a short while yesterday afternoon: a cat on my lap, a big old chair embracing me, an afghan around my shoulders, and rest. Maybe that was God - a few moments of stillness, and He surrounded me.