Still

On mornings that evoke such stillness that it seems wrong to speak, we know One is speaking for us. Today I know my dust and wonder what words I could offer in prayer to the One who drew me up out of the soil. I wonder what could I say that would do a new morning justice. What words are right to greet a yellow lab, warm coffee, a still home, and a breezy morning? The tongue that sometimes rolls all too easily is stuck and I wonder at the predicament.

Prayer. Does it begin with me or is someone already speaking? Do my words start the conversation? Yes, these questions will either loosen my tongue or restrain the questions, requests, wonderings, and offerings. To be still is to know our smallness. We are on earth and He is heaven. Yet, to be all together silent can be submitting to a savior other than Christ-ourselves. For, God is not just in heaven. Nay, the fullness of Him that knew no sin took on flesh and walked in soil. And so while humility is always the right posture, a timid spirit has no place. These can be hard to grasp together.

His kindness leads the conversation. The echoes of calvary clear the air. The empty tomb provides a context. Christ’s ascension gives us hope beyond the visible. He has spoken and invites us to come.

With still hands I greet this new morning. I dare not trust my toil or might. Yet, to think my God does not want communion, is to doubt the reality of Christ. We are His workmanship, and His creation. We are born of dust but have been wrapped in light. Our name is found inside our Saviors and we should be bold in this name. For, we are His and He is ours. I will not shrink from my Creator for Christ bids me come and be.

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