Talking

I’m a talker. Not the kind of talker who you can’t get a word in edgewise with, but I like to be close to people through conversation. I like to share what I’m thinking, and often I figure out what I’m thinking through the words I share. It’s how I process. It’s how I feel connected with people. It’s how I learn to love. It’s how I share love and how I feel loved; through words. But there are some sweet moments, like tonight, when it is silent. We cooked a delicious fajita meal sharing only simple words of instruction and explanation, “chop the tomatoes, bring the garlic, cube the potatoes.” As I was scrubbing out the sink after washing the dishes and Paul was sweeping the floor, we were quiet. It was nice. There was nothing artificial or almost. There was nothing being misunderstood or misrepresented. There was only a sink getting clean and a floor being swept. It was only us, being together in our home. If we make it to heaven, I expect it will feel familiar because of moments like this.