We went away last weekend, my husband and I.

We picked a bed and breakfast off the internet, left the kids with grandparents, and drove to a city we’d never been to together. 

We made no plans.

We wandered. Walked. Held hands. 

We sat… long enough to fall asleep once. (Not me. Him. It’s a gift to be able to sleep anywhere. I envy that.)

We ate. And ate. And drove forever to find dessert to eat. (What kind of city has no ice cream parlors or bakeries and when you resort to McDonalds discover that it closed early?)

We talked, and we sat together in silence. We listened, and we moved closer toward understanding one another.

I need that. I need the quiet, the book on the couch, the watching of clouds and hearing of my husband’s breath in time to the music of the water. The time to speak slowly and carefully, to listen and consider.

Home is noisy, busy, hurried, exhausted. It is hugs and sibling selfishness and mommy selfishness and cooking and washing up and messes and tidying and more messes. 

Home is not a good place to think.

These days, I have much to ponder, sift through, search out. Much weighing of options and considering of claims and counting of costs.

No-one can do this for me. Nor should they try.

And I must try to resist that silent steady pressure, living in my soul, to please and appease. I must find right, and eventually I must believe it strongly enough to stand and defend it.

A quiet weekend away with my love builds the needed space for thinking, being, growing together.

What do you do when you need to think? Where do you go? How do you fit it into your life?

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