No Trumpets, No Scrolls...

Some days are silently life changing. I'm having another one of those silent, yet life-altering, fork-in-the-road sort of days. Never, does a scroll drop from heaven, written in flourishing, heavenly script, "Heads up! Things will never be the same again! This is a Very Important Moment!" Never do trumpets play...not even in your head.

You simply have to become wise enough to "number your days, so that you can apply your heart to wisdom", as the Psalm says. You must discern the moment.

Today, ever so quietly, our balding and cheerful postman delivered a large box.

Hannah's first choice of wedding gown. This one will be the first one she will ever try on. We hope it is "the one"; we'll see. It lies there, on her bed, waiting to change her whole life...and mine.

Today, ever so quietly, I have taken down the Christmas decorations. For the very first time ever, Hannah's go into a separate box, a simple box, nothing fancy, lovingly tied up by yours truly with plaid Christmas ribbon. Those trinkets will hang on her tree, next Christmas, in her first apartment, with her new husband. This was accomplished silently, no words from me, alone in my livingroom, with soft jazz music playing in the background, while I drank a Slimfast milkshake - I'm not dieting, but rather just needed quick nourishment that I didn't have to prepare first. Quiet activity. Life changing, nonetheless.

Today, ever so quietly, I walked into my bedroom, carrying a load of laundry, and caught my son making copies of his transcripts, SAT scores, and immunization records. I had no idea. With no prodding, no hinting, no cajoling, he is preparing for his future.  He is seizing the day, having prayed for the mind of God.  Quietly, with no input from his parents, no manipulation from mom; with no gabbing or fanfare or an ounce of insecurity on his part....confidently and almost noiselessly, he took yet another step towards becoming a man. I wasn't expecting it. Life changing stuff, it is.

There was a time, in my young motherhood, when I would have grabbed up a telephone and spoiled the silence. I would have vented these emotions. I would have been far too overwhelmed, even wonderfully and positively overwhelmed, with so many milestones in a day. Now, in the twilight of my mothering years, I have learned to value the quiet, transforming moment, and to meet that moment, and honor it with a quiet heart of my own.

And tomorrow is another day. No telling what it will hold.

"In quietness and confidence shall be my strength...."

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