That has to be a joke. 67% of my household is under the age of 12. Life moves beneath my feet at disturbing speed; time ticks exceedingly loud. Be still. Heal. I thought that trying to forget my pain, if succeeded, equaled the same thing. If I could pretend my wrist didn’t hurt. If I could pretend those words didn’t sting. If I could pretend those dreams didn’t fade.
But if I am still
I have nothing to do but look.
And when my eyes tire of looking.
I have nothing to do but hear.
And when my ears tire of listening.
I have nothing to do but think.
And when my mind tires of thinking. All that remains is the beating of my heart.
Lately God asked me if I was veinus or arterial. Is my soul starved for the breathe of God the way oxygen-depleted blood races its way back to the lungs? Or am I spending time in the chambers of God’s heart, pulsing with purpose and passion as I head back into the body?
I had a phone call from a friend this morning, broken, already changed but not able to see it. As she gasped for air, she plead to the heavens to hear the deepest of her heart. I was on the other end of the phone, but at that moment it was just a girl and her God, “My soul aches for You, hungrier than a lion.”
She thought she was starving, but already I could hear His heart beat in her voice. The rhythmic sobbing echoed the pulse of God: redemption. Redemption. REDEMPTION.
I have already died for this, child.
I have already breathed my life-creating breath into this, daughter.
I have already declared the outcome to be good. Because I am GOD.
We think we are broken, but he is already at work piecing us back together. We think this is the end, and He is rejoicing that we have finally found the starting line.
If we could take our eyes off our circumstance, our ears off our gasping for air– off the voices of man and silence our ever-spiraling thoughts, we would hear the Spirit of God reside in us and we would know. He is not finished. If we are still, His healing work has just begun.