The river rages with the ice cold mountain run off.
The expectancy of Spring in the air.
It is Holy Week.
The culmination of the Season of Lent.
These 40 days have gone so quickly.
How many days have I been still?
I haven’t filled a bag in a week.
I have failed.
My expectations, not met.
A goal. Not reached.
I have let other things crowd the space.
I wonder; what are those things?
I have little to show for my time.
I have no tangible evidence.
That is the way it is with me.
I need to see the proof.
My bag a day gave way to doctors and cello; homework and dinners.
But before I write it all off as hopeless.
I think about the time on the rock.
It was quiet.
I found no need for words.
It was just me. And the Creator.
I breathed in the deep earthy scent.
I gazed over winter’s finality and the promise of spring.
I could hear the rage of winter’s wrath in the river;
coursing and pressing the confines of the river path.
I felt the pressure of the wind as the gusts came.
And I felt the warmth of the sun after the stinging cold of a relentless winter.
This is what it means to be still.
I sought this communion.
The weeks of purposefully seeking, has found me desiring the still.
Unconsciously I sought the stillness.
I went toward the quiet.
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he refreshes my soul.
It didn’t leave me uncomfortable.
My soul wrestled with the new grief before me.
The quiet; soothing and refreshing.
The journey through Lent may not have been perfect.
But the desire to still my aching soul is in process.
I long for the struggle to be over.
I long for the ache to disappear.
The LORD God is my strength, and he will make my feet like hinds’ feet,
and he will make me to walk upon mine high places
But I am learning.
One moment at a time.
To surrender all that I am.
To seek the quiet.
To rest in the presence of our Holy God.