Be still and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10 I remember the
first time I heard this verse. I mean really heard it. I was a
teenager among thousands of other teenagers at Youth Quake in
Saskatchewan. I loved the linguistic beauty of that short verse, and
yet I didn't fully understand the complexity behind it's meaning. I
didn't understand just how hard two simple words "Be Still" could be.
Perhaps I still don't fully understand. But I like to think I am
learning.
As of late I have been realizing that there have been very few times in my life when I have had to be still. Completely still in my soul and believe that God would come through. As in a situation that I could do nothing to change or control. How many times have I jumped blindsided, backwards off the back of a cliff and dared God to catch me? Perhaps I am on the verge of the first time in my life. And yet, I am ready, so very ready. But then I jumped, and I doubted. Will God come through? And then suddenly, almost surprisingly, He somehow reminds me He's got this. He's got me. Even though I'm in the early kilometres of a marathon and I can't see the end, He's got this. How in the world do you sit back and feel peace that passes understanding when you are in the middle of something so much bigger than yourself? So impossibly bigger. And then, somehow, just in time, someone reminds me to sit back and let God work. To do my part, but then to get out of the way, and let God do His. To let Him lead me up the mountain one painstaking step at a time. To let Him bridge the chasm that seems so impossibly wide that I can't even see the other side.
In the past 8 years I have traveled to a few different far reaching places. I have seen brokenness and joy and God at work in ways I never even imagined. My heart has been broken in ways that have meant I am never the same. I have realized that I cannot save the world, but I can do my part to make it better. I came home and I see in my generation a sense of entitlement, and in my parent's generation a restless discontent, and the realization that I do not want to subscribe to either of those make me believe perhaps I am ready. To take this big giant leap. To do that thing I know God has been asking of me for the past few years. And so here I am, at the edge of the cliff. At the edge of the chasm. Some day's believing God will come through and on others I drown in my own doubts. And yet there is a kind of haunting loveliness about this place I'm in. Because somehow, I know it's where I'm meant to be.
As of late I have been realizing that there have been very few times in my life when I have had to be still. Completely still in my soul and believe that God would come through. As in a situation that I could do nothing to change or control. How many times have I jumped blindsided, backwards off the back of a cliff and dared God to catch me? Perhaps I am on the verge of the first time in my life. And yet, I am ready, so very ready. But then I jumped, and I doubted. Will God come through? And then suddenly, almost surprisingly, He somehow reminds me He's got this. He's got me. Even though I'm in the early kilometres of a marathon and I can't see the end, He's got this. How in the world do you sit back and feel peace that passes understanding when you are in the middle of something so much bigger than yourself? So impossibly bigger. And then, somehow, just in time, someone reminds me to sit back and let God work. To do my part, but then to get out of the way, and let God do His. To let Him lead me up the mountain one painstaking step at a time. To let Him bridge the chasm that seems so impossibly wide that I can't even see the other side.
In the past 8 years I have traveled to a few different far reaching places. I have seen brokenness and joy and God at work in ways I never even imagined. My heart has been broken in ways that have meant I am never the same. I have realized that I cannot save the world, but I can do my part to make it better. I came home and I see in my generation a sense of entitlement, and in my parent's generation a restless discontent, and the realization that I do not want to subscribe to either of those make me believe perhaps I am ready. To take this big giant leap. To do that thing I know God has been asking of me for the past few years. And so here I am, at the edge of the cliff. At the edge of the chasm. Some day's believing God will come through and on others I drown in my own doubts. And yet there is a kind of haunting loveliness about this place I'm in. Because somehow, I know it's where I'm meant to be.
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