Tuesday, June 6, 2023

Still, Be Still

After coming through one of the most exhausting and riotous seasons in recent memory, it all came to a screeching halt last Wednesday. The weddings were decorated and done, concerts over, and the massive real estate drama that I've been working on for two years was extended, giving at least a modicum of reprieve for awhile. If I were to detail all the ways that God opened up the earth to cause things to move forward, you might just become a believer. The minute technicalities that had to come together at just the right moment are difficult to believe and even harder to explain. Suffice it to say, it happened, and I drove home that evening, noticing the sunset for the first time in weeks, maybe months. I noodled up with my dinner on the couch, certain that I must have been beamed over to the beach. It's scary that I could have gotten that knotted up over the duress of other people. I looked down to see the heart monitor beeping on my chest. Life is too short to be this stressed. I want to trust God, but it's way too easy to get my eyes off Him and onto the Mad Max horizon. Dancing backwards in high heels might be what all the feminists were aiming for, back when I was coming up, but there comes a point when barefoot in the sand and actually seeing the glorious sky and holding hands with my loved ones might need to overtake the Rat Race. Even if that means beans, greens and cornbread. 

So I've had five days of noodling. My rugs need vacuuming, my flute is laying idle beside the piano. Late last night, I sincerely thought about doing some scales or sitting down to write, but no...a hot shower, a book in my comfy bed, and slumber came like a warm and cozy kitten. Ken had to work very late...I mumbled something to him when he came in and rolled back over. The morning ahead of me feels like a hug, the house quiet and still, the dog lying at my feet. There's always lots to do, but maybe the best thing at times is to do nothing. Within the sphere of the hush is the still, small voice. I crack open my ill-used Bible and find comfort. I am home.  

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