Be Still

As a challenge and commitment to myself, I had decided that I would post a new blog every Monday.
Yesterday was Monday.
I have bits and pieces of blogs started. Copious notes pinned on my office wall. Scraps of paper stuck in my Bible. Good ideas. So-so ideas. Even bad ones.
So yesterday I was mentally watching the clock. When was I going to get something written? I can't write with the kids around. I can't even form full sentences with the kids around. It's not their fault. I have the attention span of a caffeinated jackrabbit.
I got up earlier than everyone else and tried to write then. I kept going back and forth and starting and finishing and I just wasn't feeling it.
Inspired.
Honest.
Vulnerable.
Encouraging.
Moderately helpful.
I tried to squeeze some time in while the baby napped.
Before dinner, I hid with my computer in my bedroom while the kids played outside.
After the kids went to bed, I sat down for an hour.
Still...
Nothing.
I was spinning my wheels all day long, looking, researching, studying, thinking.
And then I closed the computer, maybe a little too hard, and I sent up a bullet prayer. You know, a sharp, quick one-liner that usually starts out with 'Lord, please...'
Please help me understand what You want me to write. I want it to come from You.
And I was getting in bed and slightly frustrated because I was really wanting to honor God in anything I wrote.
And then I heard it.
Distinctly.
Clearly.

Be still.

So, I get in bed and I'm chewing on that like a fresh piece of sweet pink bubble gum and thought of the verse in the Bible:

Be still and know that I am God.
Psalm 46:10

Be still.
And know.
Instantly, I was.
I did.
And it made all the difference in my focus. For this moment.
Anything that is not from God or about God or leading us to God is...a distraction. Good and bad. It's just the way of it.

cell phone husband job computer kids television friends laundry addiction bills wife exercise sickness death books school worry yardwork facebook dinner dishes volunteering meetings playdates appointments arguments shopping.........

God will not compete for our attention. His is a still, small voice.
And nothing, nothing has the ability to pierce our souls' ears so deeply and sweetly as that Voice when we allow it to speak to us.
I love this song Stop the World by Matthew West.
Cut.
Paste.
And meditate.
http://youtu.be/BgWkuTA-OEQ
Just for today...may you be still.
And know.

843

I crave order. I like things neat. The end of this summer has proven maddening.
Literally.
And I hate to use the word literally.
Kids have gotten sloppy, lazy, bored. Stir-crazy from being inside because the average temperature is 105 degrees. Beds don't get made. Dishes sometimes don't make it from the table to the kitchen sink.
And the clothes...
The clothes make it off the body and onto the floor. I call it The Rapture Syndrome. Shorts, shirt, socks make a perfect little flat person on the floor. But no body to be found.
While the kids were getting ready for bed last night, I was making the rounds on a nightly pick-up that makes the mornings easier to embrace. I walked into the girls' bathroom to switch on the lamp for some night light and was met with...a perfect little flat person on the floor.
At the end of the day, we will just say that my patience is not usually what it was when I started out and I could feel myself getting worked up.
How many times have I said it?
When will she do it on her own?
Will she ever learn?
I walked around the corner and even though I would love nothing more than to say I channeled June Cleaver and whispered a gentle reminder with a reassuring 'dear' on the end of it...
That is not what happened.
I can't remember the exact words I said and they don't really matter.
The tone was clear.
The judgment in my 'Why?' left no question.
The big sigh when I exited her room needed no translation.
The evening continued without a hiccup and not another thought was given to that clothes scene which happens daily at this house.
Until...
Until too early this morning when the Lord put His hand on my shoulder and whispered me out of a deep sleep, 'How many chances do I give you to get It right?'
Sleepily, I think 'What?'
'How many chances do I give you to get It right?'
I stir. Wide awake now.
The number is limitless.
I never learn so much about how God must love us as I do from my own children.
I love knowing that God knows I am going to do this thing I do, my own version of throwing my clothes on the floor, 843 times. And instead of scolding me each time I do it wrong, he rejoices when I get to time number 349 because I am getting closer to the moment where I will get it right.
God doesn't take a tone with me.
He doesn't ask 'Why' with narrowed eyes.
I don't ever feel the hot breath of a sigh sitting on my shoulders when I've messed up.
Again.
Just grace. And love. And joy.
I will get it right.
I will get it right.

But until I do, my heart beats at this knowledge:

The LORD is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.
Psalm 103:8