"Why are you so full of heaviness, O my soul,
and why are you so disquieted within me?"
Psalm 42:5a
Today is quiet. Just like every other day. Quietness seems to surround me. I have been in quarantine for over a week now. I have been more or less isolated as I have lived in Cottage 3 at the Order of Saint Helena. I will be here a total of two weeks before I move up to take my place as a postulant and take up residence in the convent.
To say I am excited for the transition doesn't feel quite enough. I am beyond thrilled to be beginning this journey alongside my sisters. But I'll be honest, this quarantine time has been hard. That's nobody's fault. With the times being the way that they are, frankly I'm just pleased I'm able to be here at all. But that doesn't change the facts. I've struggled.
One of the best aspects of quarantine has been getting video calls every day so I can join in times of prayer with my sisters in chapel. This Sunday during Matins (morning prayer), we read verses from Psalm 42. It's one of my favorite psalms, for a number of reasons. But it has stuck with me this time in a new way. Mostly because, like I said, it is quiet here.
The quietness that takes place in isolation is one that invades the senses. And if you aren't prepared for it, it can assault your heart and mind and soul. Because in the quietness, you are left with just that. Your heart and your mind and your soul. And you'll find, in the quietness of the surrounding room, that there is nothing but noise within. There is a chatter that goes on almost incessantly.
My internal chatter has not always been positive. That's putting it lightly. I've often placed undue stress on myself with my internal demands that I be "better" (whatever that means). So when the psalmist talks about their soul being "disquieted" within them... I get that. My soul has been anything but quiet in the midst of the ever present quietness of my surroundings.
Early on in my quarantine, I spent hours on the phone with anyone who would answer. (For those of you who took my calls, bless you.) I was trying anything and everything to keep myself from experiencing the quiet. Because, if I'm being honest, I was afraid. Afraid of what I'd confront if I gave into the quietness and allowed myself to fall under the crushing weight of silence. Afraid of letting those waves pass over me. Afraid of being faced with nothing but my own ugliness within.
Silence is scary and difficult, but I'm learning that it is also necessary. You see, I'm finding that just because I'm scared of being faced with the brokenness inside doesn't mean I don't need to face it. I owe to to myself to look at my brokenness within. I owe it to myself to address the pain and heartbreak and anxiety. I owe to to myself to truly see the mess inside myself. And slowly, ever so slowly, clean it up.
I can't do the work of cleaning if I never settle long enough to look at the mess. This is what silence is teaching me. It is scary and my, oh my, is it difficult. But it's worth it. I'm worth it.
I pray you find some time for quietness, my friends. I pray that you face your own disquieted souls. And I pray that you see how worthy you are of wholeness, despite the brokenness you may find within.