Repeat the Sounding Joy
The Unexpected Gift from a Moment of Unraveling
I had a moment of unraveling just before my last two kids got out of school for Christmas break—that half day of school (this year on December 20th!) where every mom tries to cram in all the things that still need to be done before times up and holiday festivities are officially upon us.
I’m writing this twelve days later after a sick-laden week (the last four years our family has gotten sick without fail every Christmas, and this one is no different). I’ve lacked energy even for writing, so I will not go into all of the details. Suffice to say, that moment of unraveling, in the most unexpected way, led to a moment of “ceasing”—one that I was resistant to amidst the holiday bustle until it fell on top of me.
It was a moment where all I could do was be. With hot tears suddenly dripping down my face I gave into an unexpected invitation to extended silence from a knowing individual. I closed my watery eyes and let go of my attempt at control. My thoughts wandered over all I’d pent up inside of me: overwhelm, fear and a bit of sadness too, as well as the basic frustration of knowing my hoped-for plans for the day were dashed.
That ceasing—that moment to just be—turned out to be everything, moments before, I had no idea I needed.
Repeat the sounding joy.
It’s that line from the familiar Christmas hymn, Joy to the World, that always deeply resonates in me.
In my moment of unexpected ceasing—through the hot tears as I quieted to all the noise in and outside of me—I felt unequivocally loved. I’m sure that may sound so strange to some—but as I let go it was like a gift was being handed to me.
Repeat the sounding joy.
I did not need to do anything in that moment except be.
Repeat the sounding joy.
But something awoke within me in the comforting silence, even as my unraveling felt half temper tantrum and half true-life overwhelm, and oddly, a sense of joy crept in like water trickling down from a pitcher and filling every crack and crevice around the ice raising in my proverbial cup.
Repeat the sounding joy.
Moments to cease. This is what I want more of in 2025.
As the New Year is upon us, I want to extend the same invitation I was given just weeks ago from that knowing individual:
“Do you want to just take a few minutes of quiet?”
There are no rules.
The atmosphere and conditions do not have to be perfect to do it. In fact, they probably won’t be.
All you have to do is just be. What a relief.
(PS- If it feels too hard to take on the silence solo, Use this Guide, An Invitation to Rest, as a starting point (or a place to return periodically to check in with yourself).)
xo, katherine