In the noise. In the quiet.

It's easier being who I'm supposed to be during the everyday noise.

When Callan complains about being hungry again, I'm a mom who needs to make a meal.

When Kinsley pulls out her reading curriculum and sits next to me, I'm a homeschooling teacher who needs to teach her daughter to read.

When Finn is grumpy and needs cheered up, I'm a tickle monster trying to turn a frown upside down.

When Gene needs his coaching shirt washed for team picture day, I'm a wife doing last minute laundry.

When a friend calls who's having a bad day, I'm a listening ear who's dropping everything to pray. 

During the noise, I put one step in front of the other and keep going. I keep moving forward. I have to. There are mouths to feed, children to care for and a husband to love. 

It's harder being who I'm supposed to be during the everyday quiet.

It's hard in the quiet because I have time to think about who I'm not. 

I'm not a second trimester pregnant woman. I'm not a mother to four living children. I'm not past the health problems that have been plaguing me the past two months. I'm not filling my closet with my fall maternity clothes. I'm not going to give birth along with four of my relatives in the winter. I'm not trying to clear my calendar in February to make time to recover from birth. 

It's in the quiet that my thoughts grab hold of me. Sometimes that's good, and sometimes that's bad. Sometimes it's neither.  

Quiet. I love it, and I hate it. It's a double-edged sword right now for me. Quiet...like when the three kids leave the breakfast table, and I'm left there alone in the kitchen...and the ipod lyrics that have been playing can now be heard clearly.  The worship song that was a faint murmur when the noise was around me suddenly begins to pierce my soul in the quiet, and I crumble right there in the middle of cleaning up sticky syrup off the table.

Quiet...like when Finn turns to me in Toys R Us when we're on our date observing the new Toy Story figurines and says, "Mommy, what toys are we going to buy the baby today?" And I'm left explaining to him in the quiet of that toy aisle that we're not buying any more toys for Chayton.

Quiet...like when Gene turns the tv off and kicks me off the couch at night to tell me to get to bed or I'll regret it in the morning...and I'm left lying in bed wide awake with my thoughts while my four family members sleep soundly.

I'm still learning. I'm still learning how to embrace the quiet and use it for my good. I'm not writing this for pity. I don't want pity. Most days I'm good. Most days I surprise myself at how good I'm doing when I just buried my son not even two months ago. It's just those moments. You know, the ones that you didn't expect. The ones that leave you running for the door at Starbucks, because it's awkward to be the girl sitting by herself who started crying for "no reason." 

But most days I'm just a mom of four kids who now yearns for heaven even more than I did two months ago. And in heaven the noise and the quiet will all be good.