I sit on the sofa. The house is quiet. My hands are wrapped around my second cup of coffee, cooled by cream swirls. I hear the steady hum in my ear. The sound of silence is never quiet. I steady my breath and listen to my heart beat but the sound has traveled and now loud in my ears. Frustrated, I say aloud "Concentrate!" My voice surprised me.
I start again. Focusing on the quiet, the stillness. I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly. My heart ramps to match the sudden air intake but settles and falls back into pace. I hear the quiet all around me and shift my position on the sofa. I set my lukewarm coffee on the table and wiggle my toes against the inside of my slippers. I stop. How can I be this distracted? I tell myself to pay attention.
The conversation in my head begins like rush hour. Pay attention to what? What am I supposed to absorb in these quiet moments? What do you want me to hear during this reflection. I'm giving the first part of the day to Him but during this prayerful time, I'm not praying and He's not saying anything either. I'm not hearing anything except boards creaking, my own breathing noises and a passing airplane. I'd rather hear *Him.* That would be a miracle. Hearing God, definitive and plain. Glorious sounds pouring into my living room. Not so much Charlton Heston, but more like Morgan Freeman. His voice would have a soothing, smooth jazz feel. Back announcing my life story, explaining in a gentle exhale what I just heard and giving me the best of what's coming up next.
But, that's not how it ever goes with Him is it? I can be quiet and meditative, but still very distracted. Being with God isn't contrived. I don't have to put these moments together. Why do I try to make it a formal and deliberate event? Like setting up tea for the Queen? He hears me when I pray long prayers that cover every problem. He's with me when I thank Him. And He comforts, if all I can say is, "God help me."
Being with Him, just is. He's where I am. In a whisper, before I open the door to a tough day at the office. In a tear, slipping off my cheek while I'm driving. He's there in a moment of frustration when slamming a pot on the stove. I feel His presence in the middle of the night when everything seems worse. He's there in the brightness of laughter at the dinner table, when everything seems like it's gonna' be alright.
The time I make for Him in the morning is to find my center. To savor His peace. Before I prattle on about the worries of my day, I can just be with Him. Like a treasured friend you don't have to fill up the silence. The comfort of just *being still* with Him. Life has so much rush and not enough hush. I can enjoy the hum of the silence and the reassurance of my own heart beat. Even in my desire to talk, I can search for quiet and I can be reflective.
And maybe I just did exactly what He needed me to do.
Seeds to Share:
Psalm 46:10 - Be still and know that I am God.