On the clatter of children

As a single woman, I've become unrealistically and unnecessarily dependent on silence. It's because I'm selfish sometimes. I think, "My brain can only handle this homework assignment if I have utter and total silence so that I can concentrate on it."

I sell my brain short. I also sell the Spirit short too. I forget that even in the noise and craziness of the world, thinking clearly is still an option. God won't abandon me because it's loud around me. We need quiet time to think and ponder. This is certainly true, and it's true that we need to search for and create that quiet time to have more intimate moments with the Spirit and with ourselves. But this need not happen at the expense of those people around us who need to share a space with us.

When I break out of my silent studying, I come to the Erying Science Center on campus, which is filled with little science demonstrations. Today as usual, the building was filled with second graders clanking ropes, weighing space matter, and generally enjoying their lunch. Rather than distracting, it was cleansing and clearing.

As part of my studying, I read a small snippet about how Americans have a sense of space, rather than one of place. We are not rooted in our surroundings, but instead fix our focus on what is outside of just where we are, riveting on a horizon and a future before us. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not. I feel this endearment and this desire in my heart for the clatter of children around me, but I get nervous when it comes too close. I shouldn't be. God sanctifies us in close conditions of sound, silence, and heart beats.