The house is quiet. But if you listen closely, you can hear the soothing hum of the noise-maker spilling through the baby monitor. The fan clicks mechanically, marking each and every rotation, and the faint roar of a car engine grows steadily as it passes our street. 

It’s rarely quiet in this house with two active little boys, incessantly climbing and questioning and asking for attention. Yet, I find it is not quiet I crave, but rhythm—meaning to the madness, a slow and steady anchor bringing us back to a place that is healing and fruitful and good. If the holidays are a time of indulgence, of rule-breaking and excessive celebration, then January brings with it an air of order and cadence and discipline. It is the “resetting” of the clock once we’ve discovered in all our merriment that an essential piece was missing.

In the same way we need the four seasons to lead us through cycles of planting and harvesting, we need rhythms in our day to day to keep the collective noises contending for our attention from becoming detrimental. On any given day, I write, I cook, I tickle tummies, I make beds, I play, I read, I check emails, I fix snacks, I give baths, I wipe down countertops, I pray goodnight prayers, along with a thousand other little things. And without these regular checkpoints, I have this awful yet predictable tendency of getting lost amidst the endless piles of laundry and errands to run. So I’ve determined that we as a family do best when we can put a rhythm to the noise and attempt at something resembling a song.

Our song these days looks like a quiet hour for our four year old during River’s nap time so I can hyper focus on writing, editing, or whatever task is at hand. And again when Matt comes home from work, he gets the boys and I get a few more minutes to ensure my soul is properly tended. Matt and I have discussed the areas we both feel called to ensure we are not neglecting critical facets of ourselves. For us, it means time to run each week and time for Matt to write music and grow as a musician. It means waking up before my early-rising boys to spend a few minutes in the Word, journaling, and praying over the day. (And often extending grace all around when it gets cut short by active minds and hungry bellies.) 

Our song looks like Wednesday evening date nights at home, where we show up with three questions each and something sweet to eat. You might argue that our song reaches its chorus when Matt and I come together to pray each evening over a specified topic—a habit we picked up when the world went a hundred kinds of crazy last March. 

On Friday evenings we let our oldest stay up late, pile whatever we can find on a tray of broken nachos, and take turns picking a movie two out of three of us will undoubtedly fall asleep to. And most recently, we’ve deemed Saturdays our Sabbath; a day devoted to worship, rest, and time together (whatever form it unfolds itself in). 

Our days are becoming a song that I am learning to love.

The rhythms we create are what hold us accountable to the goals we set in place at the beginning of each year. It is intentional time set aside to do the things we have been called to do as parents, spouses, and creatives. Without these rhythms, we passively leave our futures up to chance and hand our schedules over to a world constantly vying for our attention. 

As a side note, we cannot mistake rhythm with control. It can be hard with young kids because we cannot always predict how early they will wake up or how they will respond to one of the rhythms set in place. In moments like these, it is up to us as parents to use our best judgement. Sometimes the most beneficial thing for everyone is the ability to adapt and allow room for improvisation. 

I’m still working on finding and adjusting these rhythms that bring chaos to order in our household, but I have noticed a deeper sense of satisfaction in my personal life and our home simply by taking cues from the cyclical nature of the seasons. I have also noticed that I am much more present a mother when I have time specifically set aside for my other pursuits/responsibilities. The days still get long and messy and sometimes overwhelmingly discouraging, but the beauty of a simple beat is how easy it is to get back on it. I must remind myself, sometimes multiple times a day, of the innumerable mercies that await me on the other side of a mis-step. 

Our days are becoming a song that I am learning to love. Even on days when no one seems to play their part particularly well, and all the noises feel like they are competing for the grand solo, I take a deep breath and thank God for the gift of music. 

What do your rhythms look like these days? And how can you begin to make meaning of the chaos through small, intentional, patterns that inform and bring purpose to your days? Begin with a single habit. A daily journaling exercise, a mid-morning walk, something steady and dependable, and listen closely as the collective beats begin to form a sweet melody.