Be still and know that I am God.
You, God, are there in the starkness of trees undressed for winter's rest. And you are there in the rich colors of sunrise that bathe the landscape — inviting hope, gently pulling me forward.
Be still and know that I am.
I am still as the dried grasses at day's close when the breezes end their dancing and take their rest. In that stillness, I know you as Creator and now also Midwife as I bring to life all you have imagined my landscape to contain.
Be still and know.
Yes, God, I do know. I know that all of life is exchange and balance. Exchange of summer's warmth for fall's beauty. Of fall's beauty for winter's rest. Exchange of winter's rest for spring's bursts of energy. Of spring's energy for summer's warmth. And life is balance too. Balance between hope and despair. Between isolation and community. Between separation and grace.
You call the whole creation to stillness in winter. Trees drop their leaves to prepare for rest. Just so, you invite me to drop my anger and hurts bit by bit to prepare for winter's grace-full rest in your loving arms. For life in the fruitfulness and wholeness that comes in spring and summer. And for the gathering time that fall brings.
You want me to be what You created me to be. You have called me by name. You made me one-of-a-kind. And you lead me through all the seasons of my life, asking that I simply rest in you and be
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