Silence is Golden.

Two unexpected nights of silence. Extraordinary.

Yesterday, after going for a run on Lakeview High School's track (a run which I'd hoped would get easier, but has indeed proven to be more difficult; fellow runners tell me to blame it on my allergies - which I'd eagerly do if I indeed had allergies), I came home to a perfect summer night. Our AC has been off for awhile now, and it's been cool enough to leave the fans unplugged. So all I had was a gentle breeze and the sounds of cicadas and crickets chirping outside. It was the kind of night when playing music would have been near sacrilege - kind of like someone choosing to flip through pictures of Miami Beach while lounging on white sands in Bermuda at sunset. You just don't do that.

Tonight, I've just come home from a kick off meeting with members of our Board. I'm really lucky to work with the people I do. I love the little things about them - the way Ruth tells a story with her eyebrows (they lift and fall to let you know your correct reaction - "That's ridiculous!" "I can't believe she'd do that - are you kidding me?" "Why am I not surprised?"), or how Jed waits for my affirmation at several points in his own story telling, or the subtleties in Megan's voice that express her true feelings on the subject at hand. I really enjoy them. And I could spend years watching them, listening to them.

But years, I don't know how many years I have. A visitor came by today, one of my favorites. After an internship in D.C. this summer, he swears he'd never run for any kind of political office. It's not him, he claims. Still, I said, if you ever did - even if it were on a platform I couldn't disagree with more - I'd vote for you. He laughs his very kind, and still very teenagerish, laugh. And then waits for my gaze and very gently asks me what I'm gonna do. I pause. Though I have my own office, my conversations aren't very private. He says, "take it year by year?" "That's it," I say, smiling.

Do you ever meet a kid - and I'll use this term loosely, understanding that my ripe old age of 25 doesn't quite take me out of that category - that you just think the world of? I probably know at least a dozen whose lives I feel I could easily rally behind.

Why is it so much easier to believe for someone else? to have bigger hopes and dreams for someone who's life you're just watching?

It's not that I don't have big ideas and challenges for myself. And it's not that I don't believe in me. It's just more fun, maybe, more edge-of-your-seat exciting to see someone else take hold of their potential.

Some days, I think I make it through (and make it through well) because somebody else is believing for me. There are moments when someone else has to be praying for you, because you succeed when you shouldn't, or you laugh when you thought it was impossible, or you take a chance when you'd had your back to risk for years.

I love the idea of standing in the gap. I love talking to God about people I know. It's as if ... it's as if, if that person could feel the weight of your prayer at that moment, then they'd really know how deeply they're loved.

Remember how when you were a kid people said that if your nose itched, someone was thinking about you? I know it seems absurd, but I always wonder who's thinking about me everytime my nose itches. In the same way, when I'm sitting very still, I like to imagine the weight of all the prayers people have prayed for me fall on me. Feels like a giant hug from God.

You should sit still.