Stillness

Lord,

I don’t seem to have words. All I can do is sit still in your presence. Sometimes this looks like tears of release: joy, pain, awe. Sometimes it’s silence, a patient waiting. You tell me to be still and know you are God, that You lead me beside still waters.

I am not so much moved by the silence, the stillness. It’s that I feel I should be doing. Moving. Feeling. Something.

I’ve got nothing. And when I do, it’s tears I don’t understand.

I feel a breaking.

While the breaking itself is chaotic, shards and pieces akimbo and juxtaposed, there is not one granule of my sand that has missed Your eyes, nor nary a speck of dust that You don’t know where it’s placed.

For years I had been broken, trying to pick up pieces and glue them together myself. This time, I know the breaking has been allowed. That the refinement process usually begins with heat. That to be transparent glass or to beautiful crystal requires heat or fiery places. It is not a pleasant process. Yet it is comforting to know in this valley You have not forsaken me or left me. What comfort to know You are here with me.

This is difficult, and being transformed into the likeness of Jesus requires a measure of His suffering. That to be translated into His kingdom requires blood ink. His was shed for me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t shed Gethsemane tears.

These tender issues of my heart don’t seem light and momentary. Yet, they are a strange joy in light of whom I will be like when it is all said and done.

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