To be still. To weigh what was said before. Stop and listen. Pause, and think of that.
Is there any note of music in all of the chorus or symphony as mighty as the emphatic pause? Is there any word in all the Psalms more eloquent than that one word, Selah? Is there anything more thrilling and awful than the hush that comes before the bursting of the storm cloud and the eerie quiet that seems to come before the tempest? Is there anything that can touch our hearts like the power of stillness?
There is in the deepest center of the soul a chamber of peace where God dwells, and where, if we will only be still, we can hear His still, small voice.
In the fastest wheel that revolves on its axis there is a place in the very center where there is no movement. Photos taken over long measures of exposure that are aimed at the heavens, centered on Polaris, the North Star, reveals circular streaks for all the stars that surround it. Only one, Polaris, is a still, non-moving dot against the black sky. And so in the busiest life there may be a place where we can be alone with God in stillness. To “be still, and know.”
When the storm clouds in this life are building and raging against us, let us be still. Pause. Listen. For when we do new life can come back to us as life comes back to withered flowers that drink in the summer rain.
Be still this Thanksgiving. Be still this first weekend of Advent as we prepare for the consumerist madhouse that has inserted itself upon Christmas and threatens to snuff out its meaning. List out your blessings with your voice. But then stop. Pause. Weigh fully what you’ve said.
In your blessings you will find peace. And where there is peace, you will find the voice of God. A voice telling you that you, the person who just listed all of your blessings, are a blessing to Him.