One word: ponder. Five minutes: write.
I wake to snow falling slow and silent like ripples across a summer pond. I knew it was coming; we’d been warned for days. Still, I’m jilted, set on edge. There’s a great stillness that covers with snow, like holding your breath til capillaries burst. The restraint builds until your lungs long to split wide open. One can only hold out so long before the dam bursts.
(That’s what stillness does to me.)
The raising of me made me diligent, driven, a Do-er. In the Do-ing there was worth and praise and meaning to who I am, to why I am. The Do-ing grew and stretched about me the same as the skin around my bones. It was inherent. Innate. The Do-ing was like my heartbeat, unnoticed, unobtrusive, yet always there, necessary.
Despite what scripture says, I perceive and believe and walk and behave just as my genes grew me. My mind says “No. Stop. Be still.” It tells me “It’s okay,” yet my Self staggers on, no longer diligently driven but nearly frantic. What’s next? What today, tomorrow? Which way do I go, which direction do I take? In what Do-ing will I feel satiated and complete and comfortable in my own skin?
It’s a good thing God loves me. It’s good His mercies are new each morning. I imagine someday He’ll run out of patience with me. I more than imagine, I often believe. This because I read Him like a father long gone now, a father who left me lists and directions each morning. “Before I get home make sure. . . “
(Those were frantic days, doing until I lost myself in the doing.)
But God does love me and He loves with mercies unceasing. He is not my by-gone dad but my Abba Father whose patience goes on like the sun and the sea, from east to west as wide as His heart. I feel Him molding me like taffy stretched wide and thin then rolled into itself, kneaded and stretched again. Uncomfortable, yes. Painful even. But there is a loosening in the wake, a release of rigidity and ways no longer called for.
And in my ear He whispers,
Be still, Child. Let me love you just as you are, lying there still as the morning snow.
Let all that I am wait quietly before God,
for my hope is in him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation,
my fortress where I will not be shaken.
My victory and honor come from God alone.
He is my refuge, a rock where no enemy can reach me.
O my people, trust in him at all times.
Pour out your heart to him,
for God is our refuge.
(Psalm 62: 5-8 NLT)
This post is part of the Five Minute Friday linkup. You can read more entries on this word here.