DAY OF SILENCE

It feels like my left eye is pounding its way out of the socket. Thump, thump, thump, like an aching pulse deep inside my head. When I get up, my whole head feels heavy and the room spins with disorientation. This afternoon, I fumbled two Nurofen out of their packet and gulped them down with half a glass of water.

It's been like this for a day and a half now. I was helping out at the art exhibition yesterday, welcoming people at the door when a gust of cold wind blew into the lobby. I felt a pain in my shoulder and then, almost immediately, the dreadful silent headache, like cold-eye, crept in. I went home, shut myself away in my room and tried to go to sleep.

Migraines aside, today is Easter Saturday - perhaps the most profound day in the calendar. Andy Stanley (one of my favourite communicators) tweeted a beautiful little summary of it:

"Darkness fell, His friends scattered, hope seemed lost - but heaven just started counting to three."

I love this day of silence, this moment of anticipation when the story is still unresolved. The disciples don't know what to do, all hope seems to have disappeared and has been buried in the tomb; the very air swirls with uncertainty. But there is a plan, and Sunday is coming.

With the help of the painkillers and a quick shower, I managed to get myself moving and up in time for the concert I was supposed to be sort of organising. Do you know what, despite the fact that I didn't know what in the world I was doing, it actually went alright. Things do sometimes come together, even when I am terrified of forgetting the words of my own song. I heard my voice quiver towards the end of the first verse, but I hoped that people would think that was, um, texture... or maybe emotion or something... rather than me grappling for the next line.

So, I got home and  collapsed into bed with my head throbbing and my eyes itchy with tiredness. It has occurred to me that I might be spending too much time in front of screens. A while ago I started Screen-Free-Sundays, switching off phone, tablet and laptop altogether in favour of more natural viewing. I had got to the stage when closing my eyes at night, produced a multicoloured pattern inside my eyelids that wouldn't go away. I think sometimes your body can preach a message to you quite silently and effectively. Maybe it's time for Screen-Free-Sundays to return. Or maybe more days of silence.