Quiet Life, R.I.P.

Craving Rest in a Noisy World

For the past few years, I’ve grown rather desperate for quiet and rest. The clamor of school and sports schedules, errands, and housework marks my days, while dinner and driving to practices marks my nights. In the background stands my phone, keeping me on task with its nagging alarms—repeating on snooze in case I forget, of course.

Yesterday evening, I left my phone in my room charging while I cooked a hurried dinner. Within minutes, I heard its familiar, incessant alarm. What upcoming event was my phone announcing now? It warned me ahead, at six o’clock, that soccer tonight is at seven. At 6:25, another poorly-timed alarm rang out—fill out some online forms for school by tomorrow.

We are restless people, driving ourselves to madness in a world of nonsense and noise. I’m a paradox under this odious modern spell. I rejoice in hours of quiet solitude, but later, I’m back in the breathless routine of the fray. Perhaps I’m not so resolute after all.

For moderns with lives that conspire to drag us from comforts of hearth and home, finding rest from a throbbing culture is no small task. Our schools, recreation and daily travels have grown so unwieldy that they’ve eaten away steadily at our fleeting hours of rest. Opportunities have multiplied, but so have cars on the road; getting from point A to B adds hours to our tasks.

Logistics of travel aside, the world is a noisy, busy place—even inside the private confines of our heads. I’m badgered by my phone, assailed by my thoughts with requests and reminders all day. These are the everyday pressures that nobody sees.

Inside my weary brain, there’s a running list: volunteer, sign up, sign a waiver, join this, pay tuition, Venmo somebody, email everybody, reserve a spot, buy cleats, leave for practice, call your senator, call the doctor, get the groceries, get the app, load the dryer, find a handyman, find a ride, find my keys— and after these, find my sanity.

I’ve been reading Abraham Kuyper’s Pro Rege, and in one chapter, it describes our “insatiable desire” for rest. He lists those things humans instinctively crave: “Rest for our conscience, rest from our sins, rest from our labor, rest from our fellow human beings, rest from our enemy, rest from destiny’s pursuit.” Yes and amen to his words, resonating from the slower world of 1912 .

He wrote in a time when our distractions were less severe, but still intrusive enough to shatter his once-sacred quiet. A century later, I can add my own complaints to his timeless observations.

In my 22 years of parenting, I’ve watched the accelerating pace of culture bring its pressures into our home, pushing our schedules—and often our spirits—into its chaos. Our kids’ pursuits have grown intensive and complex, and weightier things fall off along the way. We want to nurture their gifts, but at what price?

We’ve danced to the rhythms of three different schools—plus a handful of sports—in a house of six stair-stepped kids. My oldest kids now laugh to see how my dinner menu has changed; we’ve gone from my “homesteader” dish of barley and beans to a weekly Costco haul—with my homemade flaxseed muffins no longer in sight.

Seasons of life will come and go, and children in schools make for busy ones. Yet we must admit that the climate has changed; the world’s darkening clouds are moving faster. Despite our love for faith and truth and the simpler joys of living, we have lost the art of living the quiet life.

Menus and traffic may signal our dilemma, but the cost, in truth, is much higher; our modern life’s euphoria comes home to roost. Our minds are dull, and our hearts are cold; but who has time to fit it? We suffer and complain, still living on fumes of the here and now. “The conscience does speak, but the clamors of the world drown out its whispers.”

I have my own strategies for managing this chaos—disorder that starts with our schedule but spreads to our minds. To beat back the frenzy, I run to my rest—and tune my heart to the quieter voice instead. Running trails, walking dogs, and escaping to the quiet of my closet—all keep the pace of the calmer footsteps of God.

This amped-up world and its hectic clip—both daily conspire to steal my peace; they’re bandits pursuing my heart on this riotous ride. But stealing away to simple rest, my sanity’s finally found—and I’ll leave the rest of my list with the maddening crowd.