What would happen if you took time to be still? If you took time to be you? If you took time to be wholly and holy with God in his world, in his creation?
Beauty can renew and beauty can speak to the deepest parts of our soul and our hearts. But only if we let it. Only if we seek it.
Only if we take time to be still.
This morning, I had a wonderful conversation with a friend who reminded me about the amazing things that God does when we are quiet and still and focused on him. When we come and sit with him and when we listen for him.
Because that is when we can hear him best, in the quiet of our life and in the quiet of our mind. And as Sara spoke, I heard God’s voice in hers, over hers, calling me back to him, back to the intimacy that breathes life into me and into my moments.
It’s not that I have strayed from him, but that I’ve been too busy for him. Crazy, right? Too busy for the God who created me, who redeemed me, who loves me. But that’s what’s been happening, a little more each day, probably since a week or so after Easter.
Recently, I have not been still; instead, I have been hurried and harried.
Recently, I have not stood in this world that God created and sought his presence; instead, I have flitted from one To Do to the next mumbling short bursts of please, please, please and will you, will you, will you.
Recently, I have not let time be; instead I have chased it and fought it and wasted it.
Recently, I have not let myself be me nor let myself just be; instead I have shape shifted to meet other’s expectations and I have retreated behind walls of protection and self-preservation in efforts to control my world and the people in it.
But today, I talked to Sara and she spoke love and truth and they were the very cup of cold water that my thirsty soul needed. She was the voice of Jesus reminding me that I am wholly his and that he wants only to hold me in his care.
So today, I am still, even if only for a few moments. I pause and I let time pass even while I push aside the list of things to do and ignore the sense of urgency that the day hoists upon my shoulders.
Today, I am still. I am standing in the midst of God’s creation with its sprinkling of misty rain and its vibrant, lush green and its cushion of overcast grays.
And there, in all of this beauty, in this moment, I see God. I see him in the colors of flowers and grass and leaves. I hear him in the swishing of the leaves. I feel him in the delicate tap of raindrops on my arm. I smell him in the newness of the mud forming beneath my naked feet.
And there, in the stillness, I realize that I am whole. And that I am holy. Standing in the presence of my Creator, I am revived, I am alive, even in stillness. Because of stillness.
I breathe in the beauty, letting it soak into my skin, carrying it with me as I turn toward the rest of my day, renewed, resurrected to holiness and wholeness by his presence in my stillness. And I remember that it’s this intimacy with my Creator that gives me my strength and my courage, that gives me my every breath.
And there’s no way I’m too busy to be still.