By BJ Jensen
Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape.
~Anonymous
"Listen."
"Listen to what?" asked my mildly interested husband, Doug. We sat side-by-side reading in front of the oscillating fan.
"That strange sound."
"What sound?"
"That sound."
"What is it that you hear, BJ?"
"Nothing." I could tell he seriously doubted my sanity.
"What do you mean nothing? What are you talking about?"
"The sound of silence."
Doug let out a sigh of relief that it wasn't some burglar I'd heard outside the window. "Better bottle it while you can. It seems like most things in life change."
Enjoying the peace and quiet once our two beloved and rowdy sons, Jeff and Jay, headed towards their own adventures in higher education, we just went about appreciating this new season of marriage. The silence wasn't something I dwelled on since I had, from the beginning, embraced the fact that children are on loan to us from God. We were only meant to do the best we could to raise them and then release them to fly independently. Up until now, our busy lives hadn't afforded us the opportunity to leisurely kick back and take advantage of any soothing sounds of silence.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Through life's transitions, we suddenly inherited our younger son Jay's two rather large and demanding housedogs. The older was a detached and continually whining Siberian husky named Cabo. The younger was a rambunctious and rascally chocolate Lab, Kirby. They double-dog-dared our jealous 115-pound white German Shepherd, Angel, to share her modest postage stamp-sized backyard domain. Yard clean-up was a constant challenge.
But that wasn't the worst part.
After a reasonable amount of time, we adjusted to our bulging house of continual fur-shedding creatures. And then, a few years after he was graduated and settled into the work force, our elder son, Jeff, contemplated the idea of studying for a master's degree. He inquired about the possibility of moving back home. In order to accomplish his career goal in a year and a half, Jeff reasoned, "I'll need to quit my job to return to school full time."
But that wasn't the worst part.
Jeff owned two robust indoor Labrador Retrievers. "Of course Kayla and Racer would accompany me," he added a bit apologetically. "And would you find it in your heart to welcome Monica, too?"
His steady girlfriend from out of town selflessly decided to get a job to support Jeff through school. And, oh, did I mention they were also expecting?
In a daydreaming moment, I tried to imagine the creative chaos this proposed living arrangement would produce. Our treasured sounds of silence would become only a memory because of a menagerie including four adults, one miniature human being with needy expectations (making her will known at all hours), and five energetic dogs we endearingly labeled, The Bumpus Hounds. All ten of us would be vying for personal space in a modest living area.
But that wasn't the worst part.
My amiable husband offered a workable solution: "We'd love to help you out. In order for us to do that, your sleeping arrangements would need to be different under our roof, and rules would need to be established that we all agree to, before you could move in. And we'll all have to take turns feeding, walking and cleaning up after the Bumpus Hounds."
I chimed in with my usual optimistic Pollyanna point of view, "It could actually be a wonderful experience for all of us."
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And that it was.
Co-habiting turned into many blessings in disguise. The new living arrangement afforded all of us a chance to get to know each other on a deeper level. Jeff was no longer the innocent, wet-behind-the-ears kid we sent off to the University of California San Diego. Somewhere along life's time-line, he had transformed into an intelligent, multi-layered adult with thoughts, clever ideas, and a wisdom and expertise beyond his years. What a privilege to re-acquaint ourselves and bond with our adult son.
We were also grateful for the chance to embrace our shy future daughter-in-love in an up-close and personal way. Without this unexpected serendipity, it might have taken us many more years to form such a comfortable relationship with her.
Jeff's boomerang return also afforded us the unforgettable time of helping to care for our precious first grandchild. I can still see in my mind's eye, sweet innocent little Nicole lying in her tiny white lace-draped bassinette in the middle of our living room. As this helpless gift from God slept peacefully, snuggled sweetly in her pink blankie, a constant struggle ensued between the five Bumpus Hounds aggressively contending for the honor of standing watch over her crib.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Eventually, Cabo and Kirby found other homes. The newly-graduated Jeff with his bride Monica, daughter Nicole, and mellowed Kayla and Racer moved into their own nest. Things in ours once again returned to a long-forgotten normal.
"Listen." I whispered one cool, crisp fall evening as we sat side by side reading by the hearth in front a dancing fire.
"Listen to what?" Doug abstractly answered.
"That's a strange sound."
"What sound?"
"That sound."
"What is it that you hearing?"
"Nothing."
"Ah yes," Doug validated, "Once again it's that sound of silence."
And that was the worst part.
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