Still, Small Voice - was asked to repost this.........

I have a hard time being still and recently I've wondered if my restlessness relates to the same questions I'd answered in the 60's: Who Am I, and, Where Do I fit into this world? and What is it all about? And now in my 50's I'm facing them all over again.

On Labor Day Weekend 2004 my family braved through Hurricane Francis without me. I was in Colorado, burying my father and began weeks of simmering grief. Sometimes our circumstances don't allow us time to grieve so we find ourselves surprised by slow overflowings or sudden outbursts of pain and tears. Besides grief I'd had several infections for weeks and had been in the midst of difficult family crises. I now found my body as well as my soul exhausted. I looked for a balm and I found myself alone in a desert, instead.

I was alone in the house, which I don't like to be – it gets too lonely. I needed to rest. It was quiet and the sun suddenly came through a slit in the window blinds into my eyes; it was a nice warmth, often it is too hot for me in Florida. It was a still and soft quiet.

A friend said to me the other day," You need to sit and wait for the still, small voice of the Lord". My thoughts: I don't like to sit alone, I don't like to be still, I don't like to wait. Those who know me are aware that I am not a patient person.

As I sat there God made me realize His graciousness and goodness that surrounded our family these many difficult months. He reminded me of His balm, His presence in the shalom resting on the house. Even in the midst of the pain, He showed His face continually: a call from Poland had come the day before, another from California, and others from Deland and from Michigan. Friends old and new gave hugs, wrote notes, and came by our side. Some were merely a simple nod of 'I Care' yet all were Jesus in our midst.

He reassured me that though the waters had swept over me, I had not drowned. There came to me a vision of people's hands being lifted in prayers, their faces with tears streaking down them and heads bending low and sighs and moans echoing my pain.

The sun shone in and though I felt the hushed, peacefulness of sleep I also knew my heart had broken during that hour. It hurt so much. When I awoke I looked down at my skin and thought I'd find a bright red-black-yellow bruise. What else would cause such pain but a bruise of the heart; it hurt so much. Love does sometimes.

I slowly awoke an hour later. I'd been restored not only by physical sleep but also by I AM. I had not been alone, for Someone else, very present, had stilled, refreshed and spoken to my soul during that hour.