I roll over and blink in the soft glow.
It is early morning and my eyes focus on the blinds, trying to guess what time it is.
The night felt disrupted. The morning’s rest rather chopped.
It started with Daniel’s phone getting a text at some random hour of the night:
Someone’s child is missing. Kidnapped in a stolen car.
How can a mother sleep after hearing that?
After imagining for one horrible moment that it happened to me,
that MY child was the one at the complete mercy of a thief, a kidnapper –
be still my heart.
Then the realtor texts before 6 AM,
finally has an update on the bid we put on a house two whole weeks ago.
Two weeks is a long time to pray and wait,
to hope and try to think about other things.
Two weeks of praying that God would do a miracle,
if He wants us to have this house.
The text says that we are second in line; another bid is ahead of ours.
If that one fails, we are up next.
So nothing has changed really; still the prayers for a miracle continue.
Be still, ever still, anxious heart.
He has all details in his hand.
Our life, our purpose, even where we live,
is more important to Him than they are even to us.
Everyone else is quiet, resting in the delightful morning hour.
Except this baby. My belly stretches to an odd shape,
this child is big enough to be born now.
Technically full term, I wish each day that she would come.
But I know that I could have five more weeks to go, if she is as late as her sister was.
The room glows a touch brighter in the morning light.
The fields look like a painting, the sky fresh and clean.
I take a deep breath. I want to end this pregnancy well.
To delight in these last days with just Weston and Tirzah.
To learn to bow my heart, my desires,
to celebrate the discomforts that throw me to my knees in need before God again.
To finish full of grace.
Oh impatient heart, be still.
I think of the human race, of the history of time.
From the garden of Eden to the sandy toils in Egypt,
from the bloody arena to the empty tomb.
From my carefree moments to these where worry and control
threaten the peaceful assurance of God’s overwhelming capability and wisdom.
I think of those hands stretched out over the tumultuous and wild waves,
“Peace. Be still.”
And then, there was a great calm.
This home, this heart, this world needs this peace.
Where all is held by His gentle hand, and carried.
Today may you find in your moments of greatest need,
those minutes when worry and fear threaten to steal the joy right out of your heart,
may you find Him to be more real.
More relevant. More vital, than what you feel or understand.
Deeper than the ocean, and more vast than the storm you face,
may His presence be your stability.
Your very life.