The children are in bed and Lonny and I are in the schoolroom. He’s at one end of the boys’ school table, working on his computer. I’m on the other end, working on mine. I look up and see him there, work-face pulling his brows. The clickity-clack of his keyboard is the only sound.
“Hey,” I say. “Can you stop? For just a sec?”
Lonny looks up.
And it’s quiet.
Perfectly, beautifully, unusually quiet.
“Listen,” I say.
He listens. Then a smile tugs the corners of his lips. A wave of gentle washes over his face. His expression is soft. Easy.
And there is no sound. It’s strange, at first, as the week has been wild. Divide-and-conquer has been the name of our game.
Swim club practice. Soccer games. Scouts. Lonny’s spent the evenings shuttling sons one direction, and I’ve shuttled other sons in the opposite.
But here we are.
And all is still.
“Shall we sit?” I ask.
A moment later we’re close on the sofa, a well-loved 1920’s find that sags in just the right places. His arm goes around my shoulders, as it has for over two decades, and my head finds a resting place beneath his chin.
We’ve found a quiet moment.
My friend calls these treasured times a pause. A couple of months ago, Lonny and I planned an anniversary vacation to the Caribbean. My friend and I chatted about my get-away adventure as she and I took a morning run.
“What are you looking forward to the most when you think about your trip?” she asked.
“Together time. Being still with my best friend,” I said.
“Oh, “she said. “You’re looking forward to a pause.”
As I sit here and remember that day, I think my friend nailed it. The pause. Life is busy. Full and frantic. Lonny and I are constantly working to achieve the order we want in our home. The Lord first. Marriage second. Children third.
But busyness and activity and wants and needs press hard and fast and often time for our marriage seems to be shuffled to the back.
Or lost.
Lord, help us to take time for one another. To live and learn and grow together. Let us find joy in one another’s company. In intentional times, like a date or a trip. But especially in the every day–in the grace-gift moments, like this time right here.
Lonny and I begin to talk and the quiet fills with expressions of our days. His fingers lace over mine and this is comfortable and familiar.
It’s necessary, too.
Life is rich with many wonderful things. Raising children. The blessing of maintaining a home. Commitments to good and true things.
But taking the time to step back from the busy and connect at a heart-level with my husband is sustaining.
And the Lord meets us here. In this peaceful place.
Thank you, Lord, for the pause.
