Today it is quiet in my house.
After my Farmer laced up his work boots and drove off in the Box (our Scion xB), I sat a bit and thought about my day.
I could run errands.
I could lie on the hammock.
I could read.
Or, I could give that door to the garage another coat of paint.
Which I did, my paintbrush stilling my mind to give ear to a sermon on renewing the mind by Bill Johnson. I wanted to hear more (and don't listen well without activity), so I painted the doorposts around another door, listening to the next sermon in the series.
I scrubbed the sink mats and the kitchen sink while listening to part three. I washed the dishes to part four.
I drove out for more paint - red, this time, working up my courage for bold color.
Home, I contemplated. Red - really? What if I was wrong? What if it was too much?
[what would my Farmer say? I asked myself. He would say - you can always paint over it.]
I dipped my brush into the red ("Wow, that's a lot of red!" the man at the hardware store had said, admiringly, as he added pigment to the can) and ran it along the window frame. Bright! I brushed down the side to the sound of Bill Johnson's voice: part five.
I finished the frame and moved on to paint a door red. Then doorposts to another door (we have a LOT of doors in our kitchen - nine, if you count empty doorways, too). Part six.
I took a break to grill a sandwich. I scraped a screen door (but need outdoor paint for that one) and looked at a new-to-me budget website. Retired to the hammock to call my Farmer about supper plans.
My day is nearly over, now.
Somehow, despite the work I did, despite the listening, and listening, and listening ... I had a day of rest. I am still inside - "I have stilled & quieted my soul; like a weaned child with its mother, like a weaned child is my soul within me." Psalm 131:2
Curious. My mind feels renewed ...