In this world — this world of endless scrolling, chirping alerts, multitasking rituals, and ambient comparison — we’ve become addicted not just to distraction, but to devouring noise.
Cultivate silence because noise numbs us.
Not just to God, but to ourselves.
To our own voice — that still, small whisper of the soul where the Father speaks in silence.
We’ve learned to silence silence.
And so, yes — it’s one thing to declutter, it’s another thing entirely to prepare your home like a womb: warm, receptive, luminous with love.
Not merely clean — consecrated.
We talk often about “hospitality.”
But what of the hospitality of contemplation?
A space not just for visitors, but for visitation.
The visitation of stillness.
The visitation of grace.
The visitation of that small child within — the one who still knows how to trust, how to be little, how to rest.
Because the truth is, contemplation doesn’t start in the monastery.
It starts in your linen drawer.
It starts with the way you arrange your space — not for performance, but for presence.
In a world that praises the loud, the large, and the polished, Christ comes as an infant.
The King of Kings — in a manger.
And somehow, we think He won’t come to the quiet shelf in your home? The warm sachet by your bedside? The wildflower pressed between two pages?
He will.
But only if we make room.
Not just space — womb.
The place of encounter, of birth, of sacred beginning.
“Unless you become like a little child, you cannot enter the Kingdom.”
That Kingdom might just begin in your kitchen.
In your wardrobe.
In the way you open a drawer and remember who you are — not through grandeur, but through gentleness.
So today, don’t just organize your home.
Anoint it.
Let it receive you — and in doing so, allow the silence to speak again.