Sunday, November 18, 2018

The speed and pace of our life here in this country, the noise and the demand of it, the sheer unadulterated motion of it, are almost too much for me to cope with.
 Robert Benson,  Between the Dreaming and the Coming True: The Road Home to God

Sometimes, it’s too much.

”I’m just going to sit down and read for an hour,” I tell Gerry when I come home at the end of the day. I need solitude and silence to counteract the cacophony.

I pull out dishes of leftovers for supper, thankful I don’t have to cook. I remain quiet as the day fades—it’s all I can do when I’m empty. I’m best left alone.

After all these years, he understands.

And the day winds down, and a new one dawns, and the silence has done its work, and I am strong again.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
  1. I hope whatever “too much” you were experiencing is better now. Blessings, friend.

  2. All is well. Thank you, my friend.

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