I want slow.

I want patience, like sitting in a diner with a glass bottle of Heinz ketchup, unwilling to shake, to hurry. Just waiting.

I want slow.

I want quiet, like Sunday mornings, when the children are at Grandmas’ and I’m left to eggs and coffee and choosing out a dress for church.

I want slow.

I want peace, like what’s promised on Christmas Eve services, when the lights are dimmed and the candles are lit and I’m alone with the final chorus of Silent Night, sung from my heart.

I want slow.

Like the hush of December snow.

Like the stillness of a forest.

Like a life, untethered.

And so, I want to  take it.

To take the rest of the month away.

Away from online noise.

I want to choose stillness and reflection.

I want to choose the real world.

I want to choose the life that wakes up with me, nose-to-nose, nudging me from bed with requests for cereal and milk and a spoon.

The life that wants me to sit and actually DO school with him, and not be nodding and pointing indiscriminately, but sort of seemingly involved, as I write or edit or scroll newsfeeds from over the top of my laptop.

I don’t want to check my phone every ten minutes, when my daughter just wants me to finish reading a book with her.

I don’t want to be distracted by memes and quizzes and essays, when life is right here, barefoot and sitting on my couch.

Ten thousand blog hits, a hundred thumbs ups, countless shares. They’re all for naught, if I am too busy caring about them, to be there as Asher tells me he doesn’t want to do his math work alone, or to hear Lila when she tells me she just wants someone to listen to her as she practices her Shakespeare.

I want a break from from the clutter and cacophony of it all, the scrolling of newsfeeds, the skimming of articles and the pit in my stomach over time wasted, time stolen from my family, from friendships, from creative endeavors, from the Christmas season we’re in, while I scroll and update and live in a world through a screen.

I think I need a little breather.

Especially now.

In a season to be still and quiet and only longing for the peace that is promised in the humble arrival of the King of all kings.

I’m ready for stillness.

I’m ready for slow.

(And the freedom that comes with it.)