It is midweek and I have not yet made it to my writing desk. I have, instead, leaned in to a sanctuary of another kind—a gift brought by an unlikely giver.
I see that world keeps moving, even when I step out for a time. Things still get done, and disaster doesn’t befall us. I am not the centre, as I sometimes fool myself into thinking that I am. It seems I need to be reminded of this again and again.
I read about a man who goes away for a week of solitude and silence at the start of a new year, and I think about the wisdom and blessing of that intentional choice. I think that I would like to try it.
Day begins. There is more that I would like to say, but time is short this morning. Even as I tap out the words for that last sentence, it occurs that it captures the essence of my remaining days. Time is relatively short, and listening is more important than speaking.