But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. Luke 2:19

I've adored this verse of scripture for as long as I can remember.

I can just see Mary quiet with newborn Jesus on her lap. And adjusting to her new life. Not only to the nightly feedings, the cries of her babe and the natural recovery from childbirth, but the spiritual "Oh, my goodness" moment of what had just happened. They called her boy Emmanuel.

So how could silence not be her first response? Staring at the little one who just came out of her body was overwhelming, I am sure, just like any new mother could tell you. But there was also this practice of be-ing, without any distractions that her Jesus called her into.

For these reasons and so many more, I've been so thankful to the narration of Luke's gospel for including this simple sentence about Mary.

It gives reflective types like me, hope. Our work of sitting and silence is more important sometimes than any words we could muster up.

Silence can be a good friend.

Over the last month, so much about the Hagan household has shifted. Kevin, my husband, has accepted a new job. I've had to give notice at a job that I love. We've been invited on a new spiritual journey for known and unknown things to come.  And, the only way I think to move through it has been in the footsteps of Mary.

Sitting. Shifting. Holding on what has been good. Treasuring the gifts of the surprises. Treasuring the gifts of deep wounds. Treasuring the gifts of the people who have intersected my path in this season with joy! And also trying not to listen to those voices the breed in me anxiety, worry and despair.

Though there are a thousands things I know I could say to you, my online community of friends, this is a time for me to be quiet. There's a season for everything, isn't there? The work of treasuring, I think takes you whole attention. After all, it's the season of Lent, a time in the church year where stillness is offered to us as a refining gift.

So, until it is time to write again (which may be soon; who ever knows?) you know where I'll be.

In my big red chair in my home office, on a walk around my neighborhood, or sitting with a coffee cup in hand with a dear one here in Oklahoma, allowing the gifts that only this time and place to seep in.

This preacher on the plaza has a full heart.