Being Shushed: To Be Still

I love puddles.  

I see such stillness in them.  
Even the chaos of concentric rings colliding from randomly plopping drops has a sense of serenity about it.  
There is an unexplainable order to it.  
Soothing rhythm without meter.   

And when the shower passes, the puddles stay a little while 
. . . quietly mirroring the clean, rain-washed day.  
So beautiful.

I need this kind of serenity.  Especially in the middle of life’s storms.  

. . . things dropping out of brooding skies, colliding with other things, splashing all over the place, creating ripples that bump into more ripples . . . discomposing my plans . . . tussling my emotions . . . 

There is something elegant about a heart that reflects serenity in difficult places. 

Stillness isn’t very trendy.  Brashness is.  Speak your mind.  Be yourself boldly.  Make an impact.  Insist that people always know where you’re coming from.  Live out loud and live loudly.

From Mirriam-Webster’s dictionary, here are some descriptions of "brash:"

full of fresh, raw vitality;

uninhibitedly demonstrative or energetic;

lacking restraint and discernment;

done in haste without regard for consequences;

aggressively self-assertive;

piercingly sharp.

Passion is power for brash people.  Passion is their medium for expression and their means of persuasion.  And it is their validation of truth.

But I am discovering a rich life-treasure in things that are outside of the clamor.  Things that are not brash.  Things that must be drawn from a deep well of soul-quietness.  Things that mean very little when they are paraded about as trophies . . . but are profoundly meaningful when they stand as noble sentinels over a life well lived:

Perseverance.  

Hope.

Repentance.   

Integrity.  

Joy. 

Faith.

Goodness.

Wisdom.

These kinds of things come from brokenness instead of brashness.  They cannot be bought with passion.  They are courageous and astounding and heroic, but they must be slowly worked into the soil of our hearts in the quiet stillness where Truth changes things.  The working of them takes time.  Often causes pain.  But always brings Life.  The Life of God . . . from God . . . in us.

I know that God’s salvation is a gift; it cannot be earned.  And I know that the expression of His salvation in His children is as varied as the flowers in a field or the birds in the sky.  But I am also beginning to understand how shallow . . . and how very cheap . . . a brash faith can be. 

Holly stenciled a short Bible verse on Rachel’s “computer room” wall when she came to visit recently.   This verse has been resonating in my heart for several years, but seeing it written on my daughter-in-law’s wall was so beautiful.  

And quiet.  

And profound.

It is a kind of holy shushing.  
A solemn mandate to stop running and stop shouting and stop performing.  

So we can be quieted to hear.  
And see.  
And truly be changed 

. . .in the stillness of God’s Word 

. . . and in the Truth of who He really is.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Rain

I love rain.

I love the shushing noise it makes when it ruffles spring’s soft iris petals.

I love the cooling calm it sprinkles generously across a steamy summer afternoon.

I love the dank, musty smell of soppy leaves after a chilly autumn downpour.

And I even love the cold, dusky aloneness of a long winter’s drench.

I need rain.

To quiet my heart.

To refresh my soul.

To remind me that every season of my life must have life-giving showers to soften the parched, dry places. So that things can be planted. And watered. And grow.

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts,
Nor are your ways My ways," declares the Lord.
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
So are My ways higher than your ways
And My thoughts than your thoughts.
For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven,
And do not return there without watering the earth
And making it bear and sprout,
And furnishing seed to the sower and bread to the eater;
So will My Word be which goes forth from My mouth;
It will not return to Me empty,
Without accomplishing what I desire,
And without succeeding in the matter for which I sent it.”
Isaiah 55:8-11 (NASB)

God’s precious Word is my rain. Sometimes flooding. Sometimes gently showering. Always bringing Truth when It comes. And always leaving behind a renewed sense that it isn’t my understanding of His Ways that really matters.

I don’t need to understand at all.

I simply need to know.

Him.

I’ve been keeping a photo journal of the rain at Kirkhaven. Here’s a picture of my wet “walking boots” after I have traipsed through the soggy Kirkhaven meadow snapping pictures of rain-glazed grass.

I wanted to share some of my rain photos with you. I send them out into the blogosphere with a simple, heart-felt prayer. For those who are thirsty. For those who are dry. For those who know. And for those who think they can’t:

Father, send the rain.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid