Something about today was very quiet and peaceful. Most times, my quiet days are anxious, stuffy days. The silent fuzz of nothingness rings in my ears. I usually don't like it. Silence is, typically, seconds meandering over this way and that way and side to side; anywhere but forward. Silence means slow. I'll turn my music up louder, download sermons, make lists of things to do, places to go where I can go a get some noise (a nearby coffeee shop, Target, a friend's house). Who can I call? What plans can I make? I'll go running and turn my Ipod up until it fills all my senses!
But today was not that way. It was as if everyone was on the same page. Nobody wanted noise today, so there was none to be found. Even the sky was in on it. At about 3:00 it turned a pleasant muted grey. I turned off my radio during my drive to church. I ate lunch with Eric in the shade of an umbrella without much chatter. I kept my phone in the trunk of my car and had short, crisp chats when I did use it. Eric and I walked the deserted streets of downtown Denver to his emptied school Campus and down long, echoing hallways. I nodded to the few people I passed, and they pleasantly dipped their chin back. I wasn't agitated. I didn't get snappy. I didn't put on a show for anyone. I just sailed on the breeze of the day.
It was a beautiful sunday that repaired my mangled mind.
It was easy silence. That is a gift.
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