Why do I want to talk about, write about, think about this thing called stillness?
Desperation, I think. Life moves so quickly, and every minute my very insides scream out, “The world can wait!” But I find that the world actually can’t wait. And so, I want to find a way to stop the crying out…or maybe just to answer it with the same gentleness and peace with which I answer my two young daughters when all their world is hurt or need, or just too much. That deep breath, shushing and holding that happens right smack dab in the middle of the important phone call or the sautéing of the onions, or the writing of an article. Is there such an answer for my own crying out?
I have to believe yes. And I’m nodding slowly but with conviction, as I think through the many ways that stillness has been and is the gentle shushing and holding for the desperate need and hurt and too much of my own inner space. I have known the answer in the gentle reminders of “Be still and know” that I see in the constant motion of the waves or the bigness of the Texas sky. I have known the answer in the middle of the busy coffee shop prayers offered with a friend. And I have known the answer in the breathing in and breathing out when that is all I can manage.
Stillness has been and is the gentle shushing and holding for the desperate need and hurt and too much of my own inner space.
And that knowing? Yes, that is why. I want to know that stillness in every moment of my day…and night. When the laundry is piled too high, when the children are beyond me once again, when the hurt of a friend is too much to bear, when the dreams I have are on hold once again, and even when all is joy, I want to know that stillness. I want to know that He is God. And I want to know it with the deep blue hope that leads to the courage to step again.
Maybe you, too, cry out for the world to wait.
Maybe in the deep desire to parent well, or stand out in the crowded room of your career, or carry the often heavy burdens of ministry, you have known days where breathing in and out is all that you can manage.
In those days (and all the days in between), won’t you step with me into stillness…and into knowing?
He is God.
Amy Knorr is an educator and freelance writer living in Pennsylvania Amish country. She has a passion for speaking and facilitating community learning. She is married to a scientist who makes her laugh, and has two little girls who make her laugh harder. She blogs at One Step to Blue, where this article first appeared.
