The clouds are low and the rain constant; the wind is still and the ocean calm.
For the most part the rain was captured in the upper branches of the cedars and Douglas Firs, but large drops would break through the canopy at irregular intervals to crash onto the leaves of the low level shrubbery just outside our front window. The small branches would flex under the weight of the drop, then rebound back up to their original position as the water droplets slid off.
If you’re really quiet you can hear the pitter patter of the rain on the roof’s cedar shakes, as well as the gentle waves of the pacific lapping against the shore just below the picture windows at the front of the cabin. My wife and I are staying a number of days in a tiny one room cabin on the ocean’s edge amidst a glorious temperate rainforest on the east coast of Vancouver Island.
The air inside the cottage is slightly seasoned with the smoky fragrance of the wood stove taking the chill out of the moist, cool March air. The odd super-charged crackle from the fire is the loudest sound we hear at the moment.
We are here to rest. We are here to slow down. We are here to be quiet. We are here to be still.
None of which I do very well.
I find myself wondering, “What will I ‘do’ during our time here?” Well, maybe nothing. “Yes, but I don’t ‘do’ nothing well.” That’s because you can’t really “do” nothing – nothing is the absence of “doing”. Isn’t it?
I’m in uncharted waters here.
Lord, please help me. I know you exhort us to ‘Be still and know that You are God.’ There is something we discover about You in the stillness. You are found in unique ways when we choose to slow down, rest, be quiet and be still.
It’s hard.
It’s almost like I am out of control and must trust that You will speak to me, commune with me, interact with me according to Your initiative. My part is simply to surrender the demands of my world to You, to step off the treadmill, breathe, be and listen.
To ‘be’ silent – not just ‘do’ silent.
I find it very hard to ‘do’ silent, let alone ‘be’ silent. Doing silent is simply not talking. Being silent is actually creating an inner silence. It’s calling a time out in the emotional and cognitive rugby game going on in my mind and heart.
Being still is a whole other challenge. ‘Doing’ still is tough enough – not moving around much. Changing the pace of my movement – of my life – is difficult, “Ok, consciously shift from high gear to low gear. Slow down. Now, shift from slow to stop.”
What? “Stop” is counterproductive. Or perhaps “stop” is counter intuitive?
If we “stop” and are silent can we actually be and do more? Perhaps as we choose to be still and be silent we are infused with the heart and presence of God that cannot occur any other way? In the stillness and silence do we find God anew?
I trust this to be true.
In Psalm 46:10 when the Lord exhorts of to, “Be still and know that I am God.”, it is in the midst of the tumult. The psalm begins with the promise that,
“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth give way and the mountain fall into the heart of the sea, though the waters roar and foam and the mountain quake with their surging.” Psalm 46:1-3
That doesn’t sound very “still” and “silent” does it?
However, in the midst of the cacophony of the crisis the Lord promises that, “The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.” Psalm 46:7
Not only that, “There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.” Psalm 46:5
Even in the midst of the cacophony of crisis the Lord invites us to be still and discover Him in a new way. Let’s fix the eyes of our hearts on the truth that He is with us, He is our help, He is our fortress, He is our joy, and we can choose stillness and silence in the tumult and know Him.
May we all know how to be still and be silent, that we may know Him.