Be still

Oh, day of rest, 

How beautiful, how fair! 

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Today I long for green- cucumbers and spinach leaves to feed the body, and  slender blades of grass to feed my soul. Oh, to lay in a clover green meadow and breathe in the breeze, the sky, the voice quietly whispering my name. 

What is stopping me? The urge is strong, yet I work, still. I push through to gain a prize whose name I do not know. The whisper beckons me out into mid- morning. Persistently. I stop working and take off shoes and socks, stepping onto  the grassy slope behind our home. 

The ground is cool, as I knew it would be; verdant, and pliable, warming to my touch. I lean back, relaxing, supported by soft spikes. I feel the breeze and hear a gentle song lilt from the shadow of wings. Pages flap and I wonder:  Why is it so hard to be still?

I stay, cloaked in green, while my eyes adjust to the light. In the distance, cars hum, people rushing through busy lives- and still I wonder. When did I forget to let in that which feeds my soul? 

I've been separated from the peace of this place by the whirl of life. While trying to catch my breath, I forgot what it is to breathe deep. 

Sleepless nights and sick kids may deplete the body, but it is this busy-ness that steals true rest. Now, the habit of getting out into creation takes determination and self discipline. So I sit, and I breathe, and I rest.

 A lady bug glides across wildflowers that sprung up in my absence. Clouds silently swirl across a pure blue expanse. They know how to be silent, to keep pace with time peacefully, without hurry. 

When I've been rubbed raw by life's sanding, I realize I am still learning to rest in the One who sustains and holds, comforting me through rough patches. It is equally important to draw apart when days are filled with activity and the good work of life. To make a habit of being filled with living water before I am run dry with thirst.

I now recognize soul-thirst, and so I stay, drinking in the wildness that has swept down this hill. Luxuriating in birdsong and inviting the breeze to dance on my cheeks, twirling my hair, drawing me into radiant goodness. Dandelions sway, fuzzy tops nodding in agreement to be silent before the Creative One.  I drink deep of  beauty and peace until I am satiated with healing wind and soothing grasses.

Grace floods my soul, simply because I obeyed that still quiet voice that beckoned me to the place of wellness.  I am refreshed, washed in gratitude. In awe of the One who crafted greens and blues and softness and joy which restores my soul. This is healing in it's simplest form.