This morning there was not enough coffee in the carafe to cope with the amount noise in our house. The TV was on and kids were arguing over whose turn it was to pick the next show. The dog was sitting by the sliding glass door whining to be let out, and 5 minutes later, barking to be let back in. The microwave door opening and closing. Clean dishes clanging. Cereal pouring. Little people humming songs, asking questions, having ideas they felt the need to share with no one in particular. I confess…I was craving just a little bit of silence.
You see, we have 3 volumes here in the Crabb Shack: loud, louder, and screaming like wild banshees. We are what Jen Hatmaker would consider a “Spicy Family.” We crack obnoxious jokes. We make ridiculous faces. We sing loudly & VERY off key. And sarcasm is practically a love language between us.
On my way home from Costco today I was thinking about how I often find myself apologizing for our “loudness” to people who are more soft-spoken & precious than my wild bunch. Sometimes I even “warn them” about us before they get to really know us. I let my mind run wild; imaging how they’ll feel and what they’ll think when we show up to the barbecue or birthday party:
Wiil they regret having invited us?
Will they think we are weird?
Will they question how much we love Jesus because we laugh loudly at burps and boogers?
By the time I pulled in the driveway (yes…I went to Costco alone…to get groceries and some of that silence I was craving with my morning coffee…) I had decided that I’m not going to apologize any longer. I put away all the groceries and ran upstairs to write “Our Noise” on my gratitude list.
I’m done apologizing because that noise is the noise of MY people. My wonderful, extraordinary, hilariously sarcastic people. They’re obnoxious, they’re “spicy,” and sometimes they’re borderline offensive….but they’re all mine. God made each of them to be exactly perfect for me just the way they are. Others may not love or appreciate their noise as much as I do, but I can’t be sorry for that because their noise is our noise.
Someday I’ll drink my morning coffee in peace and quiet and I’ll probably cry crocodile tears into that mug when I realize how deafening the silence really is. I’ll long for Nate to have some bright idea that he can’t wait until my 2nd cup of coffee to tell me about. I’ll miss the way Ella belts out, “Let it Go” for the umpteenth time from behind the bathroom door. I’ll miss Sophie’s long-winded stories and Jimmy’s wise cracks and James shushing all of them because it’s too early for So. Much. Noise. But until that day I’m going embrace it and praise God that He wove all that noise into the DNA of each of my people.
my anchored life: 