I grew up with very little teaching about stillness and waiting, unless it was centered around sitting correctly in my chair and not immediately getting everything I asked for, so as not to spoil me. What I would love to have been taught is how to find peace in the stillness, and how the waiting deepens the blessing achieved after the pause.
Now that we are in a different pace with each passing day, and there no longer seems to be the flurry of movement in an attempt to achieve an objective, I find myself musing about stillness, and I also recognize that my senses are more attuned to the slightest flutterings.
I think that these are the gifts of our global trial—it encourages us to be inwardly still and to wait. To train ourselves to calm the turbulence of our minds, and to wait as we navigate through our present storm.
“When one has much to put in them, a day has a thousand pockets.”-Nietchze
As to stillness—I begin each day differently now, and I admit that when I am required to return to the din of humanity’s constant motion, I may not be able to hear my own musings above the roar. As a result of this temporary cessation of whirlings, I can now lie in bed as the void of night awakens to dawn, hearing the cacophony of spring birds heralding the morn. I don’t usually turn my ear to that, because I hear the constant checklist playing on loop, the ticking of my clock shuffling me faster, reminding me to get from point A to B. At work, without a window, I can’t even tell what time of day it is (yes, I have a clock, but I miss seeing nature).
Now, because of my “waiting” holding pattern, I can see the first rays of light shake off the cobwebs of the dark. I can even watch the sun sink to rest and the moon wake the night with its milky white visage. There are even fewer cars now to disturb my rest on my busy thoroughfare, a blessing to enjoy during this waiting. We all could use the stillness to find ways to appreciate what we typically breeze by. I think the gift of spring is waiting to be unwrapped by our senses.
I was reading the story of a blind man, a preacher in Scotland, who came to the conclusion that he should be thankful for his “thorns,” and not just praise the roses, implying that those thorns were necessary conditions for blessings.
“Show me it is through my tears [that] I have seen rainbows.”-George Matheson-
There’s a song I’ve been tuning into more and more now, that carried me through our recent hurricane. It mentions the parallel sentiment to the blind minister’s.
“What if your blessings come through raindrops? What if your healing comes through tears? What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?”Laura Story’s song “Blessings”
I find that sentiment incredibly powerful, both for the significant week we believers are traversing, as well as in our global hiatus from the daily motion. Instead of dangling by the thread of sorrow, find the droplets of joy.
We are making sacrifices for the greater good, and though we walk through the valley of the shadow, we are granted peace in the stillness and waiting.
So, please, carve out time for yourself among this new existence, even if you’ve been programmed to keep going. Be comfortable with the waiting. Though there is greater friction, this pressure is being used to help us rise above the painful experience.
This is where the rainbows appear.
~Kindred Spirit~ 4.9.2020