Skip to main content

Still

Yesterday's Lent Challenge Prompt was "still". This is what I came up with. Still: I've been thinking about the meaning of this one for a couple of days. The Hebrew root of "be still" is "let go". I've been drawn to a few verses. Psalm 37:7 Be still and wait patiently on the Lord. Oh how I struggle with this. Pretty much every word. Wait?? Patient?? Still? Currently I'm 1 year into my depression. 1 year. I'm very impatient. This isn't how it was meant to be. I started off being still. Letting go was what started this. I waited on the Lord, to begin with. My sense of timing and His are obviously out of sync! Psalm 46:10 "Be still and know that I am God" Let go, rest. God has it in hand. I don't often feel still. My body is often still. My mind never is. My mind is full of 'what if'. It's like I could do with reprograming. Getting rid of all the useless files and reloading with the simplest software. Just this one truth. Know that I am God. Finally, 1 Kings 19:12 which I reflected on the other day. God's still small voice. Not in the earthquake, not in the fire. Just a whisper. Today I was still. The first time for a while. In a room full of people. I was still. Not for long. Tears and anxiety and memory kept popping in, but for a short while I was still. I was in the presence of God. I was, momentarily resting in Him. I was praising Him and knowing Him. Today, just for a few minutes, I was still.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Elusive Recovery

How do you get better? How do you recover? Do you suddenly wake with hope? Do you feel differently? Do you just notice after it has happened? What is recovery? Is recovery real?  How long does recovery take? Is it even possible? How will I know what recovery looks like? Why does it take so long? So long I gave up hope. What do I need to do now? To end this nightmare forever. I don't know how much longer I can bear this. How can I continue? To face another day. It feels like this will never end. They say it happens slowly. That recovery is possible for me. Do they really know that? Can it really be true? Is recovery possible? Is there a flicker of hope? Or is it just a fairy tale that's not truth? Each day that passes by, Hope slips further away. I feel this is life forever. The tunnel light seems dimmer. No hope, no light, just darkness forever more. I cannot see past this. The pain overwhelms me. I'm deep in a pit of despair. Recovery is a ...

A bed day

Today is a bed day. It's one of those days when I know I am safe if I sleep. It's a day when the energy to unload the washing I started 2 days ago evades me despite knowing there are no clean jumpers for school tomorrow. It's a day when the pyjamas are spread round the lounge, last night's washing up remains littered around the kitchen. The curtains are closed. It's a day when I hide under the covers wishing I had never made a stupid contract not to harm myself with my therapist. It's a day where bed really is the only thing I can manage. Where I would love a friend to come and hold my hand but I can't reach out to anyone to do so. Today is a day when I realise why my mother spent so much of my childhood in bed and fear my children will grow up with the same feeling of abandonment that I did. Where I feel both pain, shame and loss all at once. Today is a day my husband will carefully check I am still breathing when he comes in. Just in case. Today is...

Coming home

Pretty much exactly 5 months after my last church attendance I returned today. Since my last time I had only seen 3 people from the congregation face to face. People who live in my town. Who I've seen at least twice a week for years, I'd seen so few of them. Children had grown. Newborn babies now starting to move. Barely bumps now earth side. There were a few new faces too. We decided to go today because we had been invited for Sunday lunch by a couple from church. The sweet, kind hearted, godly doctor who was on duty the weekend I was first taken to hospital. I didn't give myself a choice this morning. I'd set up an excuse not to go for lunch already. Our car was broken. It was true, it was, but I knew it would be fixed in time to go. So I got up and we went. I'd spoken with my counsellor about not feeling it was my home any longer. That I wasn't part of the fellowship anymore. That physically I didn't know where to sit. Our usual seats, middle,front, with ...