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Posts Tagged ‘Psalm 46:10’

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My two-year-old granddaughter walked across the yard beside me with a plate of strawberries. Maneuvering over Sadie, our golden retriever’s inconvenient mole-holes and balancing a plate of rolling strawberries, Ava was in danger of either losing her dignity or her strawberries.

“Can I carry them?” I asked, being careful of her heart and her confidence.

Concentrating on her journey, she confidently answered, “No.”

A few more steps later, she let me carry the plate of strawberries. Carefree, unburdened, she made it across the yard without falling into evidence of Sadie’s favorite pass-time – digging a few inches into the ground, stuffing her nose into the dirt, huffing air out of her nose hoping for evidence of a bona-fide mole.

Ava, like me, wants to do it herself.

Words like “Let it go,”
“Get over it,”
“You might as well forget about it”

Those are hard words to wrap my mind around. I’m not talking about forgiveness. I’m talking about giving-up something important, something heart important, something not quite tangible.

How do you let it go, get over it, forget when you live in hope, like the journey of a prayer sent out?

How do you live in the middle of that prayer-journey-in-the-wait – because in the wait – hurt still happens, the challenge still exists.

I’m an obsessive thinker. That doesn’t mean I think well, just obsessively.

Obsessive thinking works well for my writing. It works well for problem-solving, too – for things like math, reading, finding the perfect white cake recipe, how to teach our golden-retriever Sadie to stay, stomach pain for a son that took 5 years to get a correct diagnosis(severe esophagitus), another son who kept getting directions wrong because he heard 2 out of 3 words correctly (Central Auditory Processing Disorder), how to draw Benjamin Bunny on a chalk board.

I am a problem-solver, a solution-seeker, an information gatherer.

Obsessive thinking doesn’t work well for heart-challenges that I don’t have the ability to change. For example, I cannot persuade someone who doesn’t like me, who has their heart set on not liking me – to change their mind.

Sometimes I cannot change a parent, child or friend’s decision, even though I know that decision may hurt them in the long run.

I cannot make someone believe God is real, though I can tell them what He means to me.

“Give it to God,” – I hear it over and over again – in sermons, in posts, in encouragement, in grocery aisles.

Like Ava, God is walking beside me. “Give it to me,” He says, as I maneuver through the figurative mole-holes life brings.

It’s hard for an obsessive thinker to give thoughts over to God. It’s hard for the problem-solver, the solution-seeker in me to “give up.”

God’s been personally training me this Spring – on giving my challenges to Him.

When thoughts start creeping in for heart-hurts I cannot change, I look at the 2 scriptures on my desk:

“You’re my servant, serving on my side.

  1.     I’ve picked you. I haven’t dropped you.
    Don’t panic. I’m with you.
        There’s no need to fear for I’m your God.
    I’ll give you strength. I’ll help you.
        I’ll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you”(Isaiah: 41: 9b-10).
  2. “Be Still and Know I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

I take a deep breath, trusting the prayer and visualizing the challenge as a boxed gift, wrapped with a beautiful bow. I take a deep breath and picture myself handing that gift-wrapped box to Him.

Through the rest of the day, I repeatedly grab it back, only to return it to Him – and this goes on and on – shoving it in His hands, snatching it back.

Except each day, I let Him keep it longer. It gets easier to let Him keep it. Just last week, I grabbed it back, ruefully smiled at Him – and before it had totally left His hands, took my hands off. He didn’t “tsk tsk” me, didn’t taunt me with “No Takesy Backsie’s” –  My soul felt like He smiled encouragement.

Giving it to Him doesn’t mean I’ve given up. It doesn’t mean hope has died. It just means He’s walking beside me taking care of it better than I can.  Like Ava – it’s much easier to get across the yard with sturdier hands carrying the important stuff.

He doesn’t tell me I need to be stronger, better, smarter, more lovable, find the solution myself. He just asks me to trust Him.

“Pile your troubles on God’s shoulders—
    he’ll carry your load, he’ll help you out.
He’ll never let good people
    topple into ruin” (Psalm 55:22).

I’ve learned in the past 5 years that hope and faith are the wings of prayer – and love is the heart-beat of that prayer. The answer to that prayer might not be what I was expecting – it might not even be answered in my lifetime – but it will be the perfect answer.

I’ve learned that the real living that refines us into who God designed us to be is in the daily living of the wait of a prayer sent out – and the daily living should be in the assurance of a prayer answered – in God’s time.

If I am assured, I need to live joy-catching all the other things going on in the daily that He gives me – like the smile of a 16 year old surprised 3 weeks before his birthday, in the yellow of an evening primrose replanted from my aunt’s garden, in the good-morning phone call to my mother, in the happy snort of Sadie’s nose underground, in a little girl walking beside me with a plate full of strawberries.

God is teaching me this dance, this living carefree before Him – He is most careful with me (1 Peter 5:7b) – in this giving to Him and taking back.

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Be Still
Stormless, hushed, undisturbed
Be Still
Satisfied, unruffled, peaceful
Be Still
Untroubled, composed, soothed

“Be Still” – He told me Sunday morning – Sunday morning after a week of big and little challenges. Some challenges were mine; some were second-hand, belonging to those that are mine.

The fixer in me twitched inside, stymied – wanting to take care of it now. Yet, not all challenges are right-now fixes. Some are journey fixes. Some are not even mine to fix.

Be Still

How do you do that? It’s like trying to stop my feet from rubbing together when I sleep. How does the fixer in me still itself? How?

Yet He tells me to be still.

Like I would tell my boys when they were little and the night terrors came, or their stomachs ached or life pulled sobs out of them. They trusted that I would make everything o.k. or show them how. Their hearts would stop racing, until finally they were relaxing against me, resting, being still.

Being still is a faith action. Being still speaks, “I give it to you; I trust you.”

My boys knew they could come to me. They trusted me. They knew me.

Oh, this mothering has taught me so much about the Father – about how I need trust Him and in the trusting Be Still and know [He is] God (Psalm 41:10)

To Know – realize, experience, recognize, understand, anticipate, believe

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I can be still because I know He is God, God who wants to be my Father, who wants to become the shade in the glaring, uncomfortable heat of challenges, who wants to shelter me beneath the feathers of His wing, who wants to bind my wounds scarless, who wants to shelter me in the storm – that He saves me when I cry out, like a Knight in Shining Armor.

When the big and little challenges come, first or second-hand, whether they are my own night terrors, stomach aches or life pulls sobs out of me, I know He is God, my Father – and my heart stops racing, the fixer in me lets go – and with Him, I can be still.

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My son, when he was little, had trouble settling down for bed. It wasn’t so much energy oozing externally, propelling him from bed. It was all about how to still his mind to sleep.

It was the thinking, the ideas needing to be expressed – from his eyes, to his mouth to his fingertips to his feet – and not knowing how to still it all.

“Your fingers need to go to sleep, too,” I’d say, sitting with him, – and he’d still his fingers. One by one, he’d try to still thoughts and expression – kind of like turning the house lights off one-by-one. He wasn’t even 5 years old.

Learning how to still it all isn’t just a 5-year-old thing .

I know how he feels. Except it’s not always a stilling for sleepy-time things – a stilling of fingers and toes.

My self-perception is affected by thoughts that need stilling. To-do list thoughts, How-to, How-to-achieve-things-like-dreams thoughts, creeping-in-sly-fearful thoughts, less-than-my-better-self thoughts.

When I think of God, His plans for my life – I think of action, doing, achieving, always feeling behind the plan instead of ahead of the plan – never just where I need to be in the unfolding of the plan.

Motion – never stopping, never stilling – for fear I’ll end up to far behind to catch up.

All types of motion are required for real, living relationship with God.

Sometimes with God, I am to just stand, in a withstand way.

Sometimes, He carries me.

Sometimes, I am to read love letters He left outside my door, in a nature walk, in the journey to a waterfall, in a thunder storm.

Sometimes, we walk, heads bent together, arms linked

Other times, it has been like sitting on a porch swing, quiet, no talking, nothing happening but just being together – being still together.

That was this week.

Being still was a tough lesson for me last week. For a time, it left me confused, empty, insecure, sadly forlorn.

Instead of me soothing my children to still themselves, He kept admonishing me to still myself.

He sat with me on a porch, in the mountains, during a storm that blew dust particles from trees  into my face before spraying me with a misty coolness.

I wanted to read a love letter, to find a message from Him, but He just said,
“Be still. Just be with me. You can read the letter later. It will keep.”

Sitting in a chair, casting and reeling because I couldn’t do much else, in a little pond in a little cabin where cleaning and cooking were off-limits for my surgery recovery, I tried to build a post out of it all.

Be still. Just be with me.Everything else will keep, He said.

I couldn’t swim in the pond, couldn’t go rowing in the boat because of my stitches, so I watched my boys, took pictures and sat on the sidelines. I kept trying to find meaning for a message

But He just said, “Be still. Just be with Me. Everything else will keep.”

Sometimes I need to live out the “being” – let everything unfold – let it swirl down inside and “be” a part of it, even if it is just sitting.

Sometimes just to be with Him, recognize that He is sitting with me, beside me – that He wants to have relationship like that – like on a porch swing late in the afternoon when no words are needed, and we just watch together, just be still together.

I don’t think He created  Adam and Eve for Big thoughts, Big tasks, Big achievements. Sometimes He calls us to those – the Father, also wants to walk with us in the cool of the day and spend time with us (Genesis 3:8).

“Be Still,” He says – fingers, toes, and, yes, my mind.

“And Know that I am God”(Psalm 46:10)

He doesn’t want us to just know He is God – He wants us to know Him – even in the stillness of just being.

When He wants us to be still, everything else will keep.


Still joining Ann Voskap at A Holy Experience learning how to see the gifts God leaves me daily – it has been like a training camp this counting to 1,000 gifts – filled with blessing!
580) Prayers from friends in the blogahood and the neighborhood.
581) No pain
582) the ability to stretch
583) little guys who still give hugs
584) the ability to recuperate without pressure
585) pink, yellow and orange zinnias with bergamot blossoms in Mason Jars
586) uninterrupted time with my husband
587) waking my little guys up at the cabin to go fishing, counting ribs to get their muscles moving, their voices woke up, and shrieks of laughter filling my ears
588) a blue gill I caught with the wrong bait and a bobbin – it matched my glasses. We released it
589) my husband putting the worm on my hook – for some reason, it was easier a long, long time ago when squirmy wasn’t as yucky
590) watching the boys play in the pond, one in an inner-tube, one on noodles, another rowing
591) knowing that sometimes the figurative dragging to an experience is a moms job – knowing what the result can be when they get there – and see it all come about
592) peace that I did not have to be doing, achieving or even being productive as I recovered
593) air-conditioning and plenty of hose water for my tomatoes, zucchini, squash and zinnias
594) the blessing of healing
595) Sons who find our home comforting, a place to replenish, refresh
596) Sharing Sunday dinner, even if it is leftovers
597) Answered prayers unfurling
598) Evening walks with my husband, water, finding watermelons growing, red tomatoes, a rain tree flourishing.

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