Be Still.

I've felt... Downhearted lately. 
Life is so busy, so full of appointments and tasks. Cleaning and cooking.
Which would be enough, but as we all know there's more.
The conflict from the election and COVID this year has been taking it's toll on me. 
I've found myself wanting to hide from the world. 
To withdraw into myself. 
Feeling deeply tired. 
I sat on my laundry room floor the other day, my heart bursting from all the hate and heartbreak in the world, just wishing I could do my laundry in peace. 
I silently prayed to God telling him I have no desire to climb mountains, just to be able to tackle the mountain of laundry I sat beside. (Is it too much to ask?) And that all this turmoil was weighing me down. 
I wanted rid of it.
In that moment I wanted desperately to not care.
But a softness whispered that I would never be content with not caring. 
Caring is who I am. 
Caring is who we should all be. 
So I cried there on my laundry room floor. 
And instead of praying to not care, I began praying for the world, for healing and love and understanding. 
That aching moment passed. The laundry mountain was climbed, another now replaces it. 
I'm not trying to say that the world is now a better place because I prayed for it. 
But I am better. 
My heart still hurts. I still care. Perhaps too much. 
But I gained a new sliver of understanding.

Well, really it isn't new. It's one of those lessons that God is trying to beat into me and I keep letting it slip through my fingers slowly like sand. And then I scoop up a handful of the sand I've let fall thinking I've made a new discovery. 

So here I am, holding this handful of sand. Examining it, hoping I can hold onto all of it this time. 

I feel the lack of control keenly lately. I think we all do. It's scary. And we aren't used to it. We like to be in control. It gives us a sense of meaning, as if our efforts account for something. That if we do our part, we will get specific results. 

But we don't always. And we try harder. Push harder. Hustle harder. 

I'm reminded as I try to climb the little "laundry mountains" in my life, that we aren't meant to be in control. That we are like children learning to be in the water. Viciously thrashing and pumping our limbs in an attempt to stay afloat when all we really need to do is to straighten our backs and be still. To let the water hold us, instead of fighting against it. 

Maybe, just maybe, God wants us to stop climbing long enough to sit at the bottom of the mountain with the hurt, to be still and feel it keenly. 
Maybe God wants us to sit and care. To be still and mourn with those that mourn. To notice the burn spots on the mountain, the lost trees, the scarred ground.  
Maybe God wants us to slow and see our blessings. To be still enough to notice eyelashes kissing little cheeks. The new growth pushing through the ash. The little flowers easily missed when we go too fast. 
Maybe God wants us to be still enough to remember him. To remember HE is in control. 

There will be days for climbing mountains. But we mustn't forget to be still. 
We mustn't forget that we aren't in control. And that's ok. 
I hope that I can remember this. This lesson I've scooped up again. I hope I can hold it tight this time and remember to be still. To straighten my back, breathe deeply, and let God hold me up.