All that reaches my ears now is the occasional creak of walls and the steady whirl of the ceiling fan.
The noise begins with the alarm's usual announcement of 4AM and a call to go run.
Then there is the thud thud thud of feet on the treadmill.
Then dog's whine and car's engine and audio book's voice and 175 "good mornings" and complaints and questions and laughing and questions and questions and questions.
Sometimes I fight the urge to run out with my hands over my ears, shouting, "la la la la la."
By day's end, my pile of noise had grown into a mountain that threatens avalanche.
All of this noise drowns out the song.
The song that fills my heart with His love and care and protection.
He sings it every single moment, wild and strong, and He begs for me to hear.
Sometimes I do hear it faintly, during the in-between times and the moments of gasping for breath.
But in the silence I can hear full and complete, its words and melody touching a place in my heart craves only His music.
He's the only one who sings to me.
The only one who loves full and complete.
The only one.
Often, I try to sing my own song.
The notes squeak from my mouth and the scales are a mess of broken majors and minors, never making any sense and certainly not becoming beautiful.
For I'm singing the world's song, trying to soothe my soul with words and notes of another kind.
This singing I do is in a foreign language and all I really need to do is cover my mouth and let Him sing over me.
So when my tired head falls exhausted onto the pillow and I pull the warm blankets to my chin, I will relish the silence that brings His voice, always calming my heart. I will relinquish control of it all and lie in peace.
I will be still and know that He is God. (Psalm 46:10)
You are my hiding place; You protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance. (Psalm 32:7)