When your soul is overwhelmed by the chaos of the world and noisy with its griefs, the yearning for quiet and ache for stillness can be palpable.
Lately, life has been pressing in with tumultuous interactions and heavy conversations: important and valuable, but fraught with risk and heavy with vulnerability. And in the aftermath, I find myself feeling bruised and tender, longing for the reprieve of stillness and balm of quiet.
Once, many years ago, we had a smell issue arise. While I know this admission opens me up to scrutiny surrounding my housekeeping skills, I’d like to pretend that this is something that could happen to anyone. We were deep in the toddler years, and in the sweet moments of snuggling and rocking my little ones to sleep, I began to notice that something was very wrong. There was an odor. And it was bad.
We, of course, investigated. Moving furniture and pulling back rugs, but the smell of dead animal remained. Putrid and unmistakable. My sweet husband attempted to convince me that it was in my head. But each time I’d snuggle up to rock my precious babies, the smell would inevitably appear.
A couple of days later, having not yet discovered the offending source, to my utter horror, I noticed a maggot wriggling on the floor under the recliner. A maggot. On my floor. In my house. Where my kids play.
I. Lost. It.
Immediately, amid screeches of disgust, the recliner was torn apart and disassembled. We literally took a saw to the chair. Eventually, we discovered that somehow, a mouse had crawled into the interior of the arm of the chair, and unable to get out, had met it’s demise. Thus, everytime I rocked my children, the smell would begin again. Horrifying.
I do not pretend that I would win any Martha Steward awards, but having a dead mouse perfuming the air and attracting maggots into my home was a breaking point.
There was only one thing that could soothe my soul. Bleach. Lots and lots of bleach. So much bleach.
As the offensive items were removed and the house was disinfected within an inch of its life, my horrified, young-mother’s heart was slowly calmed by the pungent perfume of sanitation lingering in the air. With each breath, it was a reminder that the wrongs had been righted. Goodness had been restored.
In that moment, bleach was the balm my soul needed.
But I believe that more often, what our soul craves is quiet. The stillness of listening to your breath. Feeling your chest rise and fall, noticing your weight on the chair beneath it, and feeling the steadying pull of gravity on your body.
Or maybe the quiet comes in the calm of surrounding yourself with nature’s beauty. The reassurance of feeling a stone’s rough coolness in your hand or sun warming your skin. The scent of pine in the air and reassurance of birdsong persisting despite the world’s griefs.
Or maybe it’s the smell of freshly laundered sheets, the crisp sound of the covers being nestled around you, and the familiar weight of the blankets letting you know you are safe.
Or it might even be the warmth of another’s arms, the reassurance of their steady beating heart, and the bone-deep knowledge that you’re not alone.
Whatever stillness and quiet look like for you, I hope you will give yourself permission to prioritize it today, to seek it out, and let it be the balm your soul needs.