Tuesday, November 18, 2014


Last Friday, a blogger friend invited me to join a Friday writing group. I intended to do it, but Friday was such a crazy day I didn't have time to write all day. This evening while Hubby reads the kids their bedtime story, I find myself unexpectedly here on my laptop (not my phone) and with a few minutes to write.

So a quick few minutes of free writing on the prompt "Still:"



Be still and know.

The thing that comes to mind when I ponder stillness is the fact that to really be still, I must be content. I can't be still when I have no inner peace. If I'm in turmoil, there is no stillness, and I wrap myself in a frenzied haze of busyness in order to anesthetize myself from the discontentment that nags at me.

There is a part of me that craves stillness. I long for the contentment that springs deep from a soul that is satisfied.

But the honest reality is, it's hard to do.

Sure, I count my blessings. I have many! I adore my children and hubby. I have a lovely cottage in which to live, and plenty of food, in fact so much that I can't diet successfully. I have access to information and friends at my fingertips. I get to play music every few weeks at church... the list goes on and on.

Yet, every time life slows to stillness for a few minutes, all I feel is an aching longing. For something. It's different every time.

Maybe it's the depression that I fight daily: that spectre of darkness that threatens my mind when I ought to be feeling happy.

Maybe it's merely a weakness of character in which I flow from one problem to the next, looking for the next challenge to confront, the next puzzle to solve, and I can never stop and rest in the moment.

Whatever the reason, stillness often eludes.

Then, there's the rare moment that it doesn't.

That once-in-a-long-time day when the planets align or when God decides to drop a perfect butterfly of peace into my heart and I stand with arms upraised on the top of my mountain and I'm happy there.

In a way, I appreciate those moments of stillness even more because they are so rare. They can happen in the midst of noisy children, or alone in a hike through silent, snowy woods. The circumstances matter little. If I could recreate them, I surely would. Instead, like unexpected gifts, I must simply appreciate them.

And be thankful.

1 comment:

  1. I like that you relate stillness with contentment. I think there is much truth in that. Visiting from FMF.