Just be still

My youngest daughter’s first full sentence was, “Do it myself, Mom.” I love her tenacity. But there have been times when tenacity crossed that line into jaw-clenching, win-at-all-costs stubbornness. Like when she insisted on riding the big-girl bike for the first time by herself. Or when she decided she could ski to the bottom without my help, pointed her skis down the hill, and took off, only to crash spectacularly. Or when she walked to the edge of the pool and leaped in, confident she already knew how to swim. She’s always trying to prove to me that she’s big enough and smart enough to do it herself. And so many times I want to tell her:

Just be still.

Those words come often to my heart often these days.

Be still and know that I am God (Psalm 46:10).

What does that even mean, God? How can I be still when there is SO MUCH TO DO???

I just want to fix all these problems in my life, you know? I mean, some people around me just need to be fixed. And big decisions hover overhead, waiting for someone to decide. And there is just always, always so much to do. Don’t even get me started on my own problems. I know I need fixing more than anyone else. In fact, I’m kind of obsessed about that.

But there’s this thing about all the people I want to be like. There’s this thing about all those people in the Bible who just seem to get it.

They know God.

And yep, their lives are defined by stillness. They know how to stop. To wait. To listen. To be with God.

That word for “be still,” raphah, it means “to sink down” or “to relax.” In the Bible it is translated variously as “alone,” “cease,” “become helpless,” “feeble,” “forsake,” “fall limp,” “let go,” “slack,” “weak,” “wait” “cease striving,” “desist.”

The question is, do I want to know God in the midst of all this, or do I just want to get it done? Or, let’s be honest, do I just want to prove that I can do it myself?

Because it looks like there is just one way to know God.

My daughter cannot know the truth of her mama’s care for her as long as she is trying to do it all herself. She cannot know that I am sufficient, that I love her, and that I will do what is best. Her pride, fear, and stubbornness will insist upon her own way, and she will miss out on what the experience with me could be.

Relax, and know that I am God.

Be alone, and know that I am God.

Cease, and know that I am God.

Become helpless, and know that I am God.

Forsake it all, and know that I am God.

There is no knowing God without stillness. This requires humility. And time. And a lot of trust. But I cannot experience his love, power, sufficiency, and grace until I stop and let him in.