I first experienced it right after we had Benja. 
I had a two year old. A feisty one year old. And a newborn. 
There were no seconds in the day that my hands weren't full. 
I was guiding and shifting and praying and holding all day. 
And we were house parents at a maternity home. 
And it was summer in Seattle. 
Which meant it was hot and there was no escape.
And life felt very blessed, I could see the measure of blessing - all laid out on my bed. 
I feel like I always kept those kids on my bed. They basically lived there - because if we stayed on the bed all day, it was easier for me to change their diapers and feed them and keep them alive.

So it was all a blessing, but at the end of the day
when Benjamin was finally nursed and tucked in. 
I was mute. 
I had not a single word for anyone. 
I would crawl back in to that bed, with a big silent smile.
I was spent in the best way possible. 

And there have been different seasons since then. 
Good ones. Bad ones. Great ones. Disastrous ones. 
Seasons where I had no words because the only noise I could make was a muted cry into a blanket or a scream into a pillow. 
There have been seasons where I had too many words and too many thoughts or too many laughs. 
But I feel like I'm right back where I was, in those days. 
But in a whole new way. 

It's almost spring here. It was spring for like a week and then Indiana remembered who it was and reverted back to early spring. I think I'm the only person in the whole state who gets excited to only see only a day or two of 70's in the ten day forecast. I'm a reformed spring hater. So it's not that I hate the spring, I just like good transitions. Early spring first. Then 70's, ok? 

Anyways, my point is
this spring is reminding me so much of that early Seattle summer. 

We've moved beyond those hot days where our world was contained on the bed. 
Now it's in the front yard and it's at the library and in the kitchen and at the church and at the park.
It's "all you need to know about homeschooling" books and gluten-free websites and beautiful talks with my husband about the gospel in our lives and in this really precious church that we're at. It's in the walks around the blocks with the boys at dusk. It's a few visitors each day just dropping by for coffee. It's even in our sweet home office. Writing. Typing. Dreaming. Printing prints and praying over packages. 

Our world has expanded. By His grace, He's grown our little post. 
Expanded the size of our plate. 
And at the end of the day, I look at it and I see Him and His hand. 
I also see my own failure and I get to praise Him for grace. 
I see Jessi at the end of herself and Jesus coming in to save the day
in time management and four year old tantrums and rushed dinner hours. 

But at the end of it, I'm mute. 
And that's all I'm trying to say. 
It's not an apology or a goodbye. Just an explanation. 
If it's not all super wordy or super wise or if I open twitter, facebook, email, or blogger and stay quiet for a minute. It's the best kind of quiet. 
Muted because the real life world has taken all my words for today. 
But I'm sure they'll be back soon.