Lord, my heart is not proud, nor are my eyes fixed on things beyond me, in the quiet, I have stilled my soul, like a child at rest on its mother’s knee, I have stilled my soul within me. - Come to the Quiet, John Michael Talbot
My wife awoke in a panic. Trembling. She had this question
on her mind, “What’s the name of the guy who starred in Spenser for Hire?” Our
nights currently are fraught with these terrors. Our sleep a strange dance;
part jitterbug, part swim. Throw in the snoring, his/her alarms plus the
occasional amber alert and it’s a wonder we don’t always face our days tired. Daily
life pours into our pursuit of sleep. Adrenalized days need more than z’s. There’s
a desperate need to find rest.
Like a seal basking in break of day sun, a friend rises
early to greet God. Rest of soul and receptivity to God seem to come easier to
them (I’m certain that’s not true). A cruciform life posture marks friend Kelly
who finds easy repose on the breast of the savior.
Possibly posture. Maybe ebb and flow. Can’t get there most
times. That child sitting on his mother’s knee squirms away. My coffee table
chair, my Papua New Guinea arabica, blue enamel mug, Michael W. Smith melody, a
glimpse, an open window to a place I’ve not arrived.
It’s as hard for me to know rest as it is for me to
describe rest. A warm San Fernando summer night Mike and I pulled beach chairs
onto his lawn after midnight. We sat feet from the sidewalk and dreamed dreams.
Laughing, laughing; so loud the neighbors came outside to tell us to be quiet. As
much a picture of rest to me as another summer day in the dry heat of Zion. Fremont
cottonwood pollen blowing down atop cold canyon river, orange Navajo sandstone cliffs
forcing me ever forward. Into the quiet.
That night with Mike, that day in the Narrows echo that
famous line, “God made me fast and when I run, I feel His pleasure.” Getting caught up and letting go; being safe
and carried away. Rest is Kellys’ cruciform posture, the sea lion on a stone, a
quiet canyon, a child on her mother’s knee.
Photo by Alex Azabache on Unsplash
