Ahhhh. I feel like I'm reacquainting myself with an old friend tonight. I hear the ticking of the clock on the wall to my right, gently telling me I should get some sleep, yet I remain curled up on the couch. I've dimmed down the computer screen monitor as far as it will go to make my eyes more comfortable. It's been a while since I've had the house to myself. It's so quiet. It's so still. It's so peaceful.
I remember, a few years ago, how uneasy I felt when Brian would work through nights at the hospital. It was a bit scary to be left alone to talk sense into myself when the house would creak and the squirrels would dance on the dark rooftop. I acclimatized, however, and began to enjoy the quiet nights. I often found myself sitting...just like this. Silently sifting through cluttered thoughts, filing them away into organized mind folders - many times the content of which would end up on this blog - and reflecting on the beautiful, and not so beautiful, aspects of my life.
Over the past three months, Brian's call schedule has lightened considerably. He is home practically every night, and it has been a wonderful adjustment to have to make. Because he's spent relatively few hours at home over the past many years, we have become quite good at spending time together. When he is home, he is by my side...doing dishes, making dinner, watching a movie, playing a game, sleeping. And, while this has been the center of my happiness, it has become fatal to my quiet nights alone.
He went to bed early tonight - a sure sign he must be fighting some bug - and I found myself sitting here. Surrounded by Christmas lights, smelling the hint of cinnamon in the air, reflecting on Christ, and feeling grateful enough for Him that I didn't stop the tear that rolled down my cheek.
What a perfect night to be quiet. On this silent night...this holy night. I silently celebrate my Savior.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
