We ate french toast for breakfast. 
Then we went to a quaker meeting. 
I’ve been a few times, the autumn before last. Mostly it’s just a place for people to sit in silence for an hour each Sunday, but if folks feel moved to talk, they can. The only time I’ve seen that actually happen was when another couple brought their child. Someone felt moved to express how happy they were that this 18 month old was there, sharing the space with them.
18 month olds aren’t great at maintaining silence. Mostly they squeak and cry and have a tough time and wiggle about. 

Roby was much the same way. She was curious for a bit, but for the most part she wiggled and sucked her thumb. I took her out and walked with her, but I was still silent cept for the soft hushing and cooing. 

Quaker meeting isn’t some sort of western Buddhist meditation practice, though some people might think that. 
You’re meant to be thinking about God, and Jesus, too. 

I did a few Our Fathers and I stared up at a window that had a cross in it. 

Roby wiggled in my arms for a while, and she squeaked, then I got her to sleep after walking around in the freezing cold kids room downstairs. There was art from 2002 down there. As Rachel, one of the clerks said, the number of children ebbs and flows. It’s ebbing right now.

In my arms she ceased to be a distraction as I watched her breath and she became a metaphor for everything. This could only be revealed in silence, I think. In a striving for silence. Roby is perfect, and I wonder how much I’ll love to listen to her wiggle during a homily. Probably a lot.