The Gift of White Noise

My almost four year old twins share a room. And since they were born we have stuck pretty tightly to a consistent bedtime routine (except for that small stint when one of them slept in a pack-n-play in my closet, because desperation called!)

Every evening looks basically the same: bath, potty, pajamas, brush teeth, a few minutes of quiet play, reading one book each, prayer, and into bed they go. Before leaving their room, I walk over to their cubby shelf to turn on their white noise machine (which sounds like a river flowing) to help drown out any other household noise.

One particular week my son wasn’t feeling well. I put them to bed as I do most evenings, expecting to be woken up by him. Sure enough around 1am, I hear his cry… “mama, mama!”

I entered his room and pulled him out of the crib. I sat on his glider chair, rocking, and comforting him in my arms. He felt warm, maybe a low grade fever coming on. These moments don’t last, I thought to myself, as I considered how my almost nine year old daughter rarely wants to cuddle anymore before bed.

Suddenly, I noticed something… “Why is that noise machine SO LOUD?” Did I set it too high? Did one of the kids mess with it and I not noticed? I thought.

I smiled. The machine had not changed. But, I noticed something else had.

Me.

You see, when I put them to bed, I still had a list of things to do in my head: clean up the kitchen from dinner, reset the house, pack the lunches for tomorrow’s school day, and lay out my own clothes; plus, go over my notes for an event I was asked to speak at later in the week. As much as I wish it were different, most nights my thoughts are noisy.

But holding my son as he drifted back to sleep, I realized my world was no longer in a frenzy. It was quiet. I was quiet. I had already slept a few hours, which by nature had slowed my mind, body and heart down immensely.

And because of this, because the distractions and responsibilities had subsided, the noise machine seemed louder. But it only did because I had grown quieter.

Rocking my son, I began to think about talking with God. His voice never changes. Just like that noice machine, he is a constant, steady, peaceful flow. I began to wonder if this is why He too, seems so hard to hear during the day.

• During the rush of getting kids out the door to school
• During the boxes being checked off on my to do list
• During the noise of playing children and dinner cooking on the stove

But this is where God wants to meet us. To commune with us. To speak with us, remind us, guide us, comfort us. Right in the mundane, ordinary, repetitive tasks of the day. It does however require we slow down like I did in that nursery, and tune in. To invite him in. A conscious reorientation. A noticing.

I placed my now sleeping son back into his crib, covering him up with is Paw Patrol fleece blanket sewn by his grandmother. I wondered how much longer I would be able to pick him up like that.

Walking out of the nursery, I gently closed the door and whispered back to God,

“I hear you loud and clear.”