late-night listening…

With the hum of the heater and tick-tick of the clock, the late-night hours bring me solace. It isn’t just that the daylight moments hold such noise and chaos, but gently so the darkness blankets in comfort.

On this Sunday evening, long after the last meeting has wrapped and my planner pages for Monday have been scribbled in, I listen. Fine-tuning my ears to the outside-winter sounds of wind howling its ice-laden breath. I press play on a few Marco Polo messages that I managed to neglect in the business of recent days, listening to voices saying things that suddenly matter to me because they matter to those speaking. What a genuine gift it is to have another soul spend their time telling you things–letting you into their moments…

One of the many things we often take for granted.

Though I usually avoid social media on Sundays, I popped on to Instagram to check in– to see… Immediately my feed illuminates with news of Jen Hatmaker’s new man and once again, I care because she cares. While I have immense admiration for the transparency with which she shares of herself, her life, and her journey–I do not know her personally. We are not friends, (though a girl can dream, and one day maybe…) but in the same ways that this empathetic heart has held grief for the wounds she’s been through in recent years, and the absolutely disgusting way many in the public have passed judgment on her for– of course, I pause to hold space for this happy news and to celebrate. And really, what a genuine gift it is to have this woman share pieces of her life with total strangers in such a raw and engaging way…

One of the many things we often take for granted.

I told a friend this evening, that I spent my entire Sunday in my dino pajamas. I drank coffee in them, played video games, napped, watched Killing Eve beside my husband, ate gooey grilled cheese sandwiches, and completed dozens of pages of a work project all from the comfort of my dinosaur pajamas, feet clad in pink bunny slippers.

As empty-nesters, dinners seldom hold the fanfare they once did. The weekends tend to be the least organized on this front. This afternoon we had a conversation about Sunday’s dinner:

“Do we even bother? Do we want dinner?”

“What did we do for dinner last Sunday? Oh… the Super Bowl? Was that only a week ago? Wow. This has been a LONG week.”

“Are you even hungry? Am I? It’s 5:30 now. Is it too late to take a nap? I think I need a nap.”

As a young adult dreaming of my someday, real grown-up life of luxury, this wasn’t quite how I meant it… And yet, here I am. Luxury at its finest.

Late naps, comfortable pajamas, working from home, setting my own hours, having dinner options, and leisurely ways to pass the time with this man I love… Mmmhmmm. Many, many of the things I’ve often taken for granted.


I listen to the hum of the universe around me, orchestrated in tones of inner ear ringing, furnace hums, electricity songs–all conducted by the late-night silence.

In a few months, these same hours will hold sounds of insects, crickets, and sticky-warm nightlife. I’ll likely feel equal parts grateful for the track change and nostalgic for the winter solace that was.

Whatever we’re doing, wherever we are, there’s always something pleading for us to listen. Beneath the dialogue and actual words, the rhythm of detail is awaiting our attention. For us to notice, for us to see… What have I been missing, in the rush of busy?

What about tomorrow, when the sun ushers in schedules, phone calls, meetings, and responsibilities?

May we remember to seek pause, even in the chaos. To pay attention, and hold tight to these moments that we’ve grown so accustomed to taking for granted.