Be Still and Know

     Have you noticed anything different about your home since the Coronavirus invaded? I’ve come to appreciate the talent of the painter that sponged swirly patterns on the ceiling above the couch in my living room.  The swirl pattern ends with a special flourish that gives it artistic flare. It’s remarkably consistent throughout the house.
     Thirty slats make up the window blinds in my bedroom. Yes, I counted them. The north-facing windows cast light on at least 19 photos of our kids. There may be more but I just can’t bring myself to move from being propped up to a sitting position in bed.
     The trains from Covington and Cincinnati sound their horns at 5am to make sure the tracks are clear. There aren’t any tracks in my town that I’m aware of, so the sound is faint.
     If it’s a sunny day, my neighbor behind my house will mow with his lawn tractor—but not until the sun dips below the horizon. He retired years ago so he’s been home all day, but he chooses dusk to crank up his John Deere. He zooms around his trees and lawn ornaments with his lights on. At least that’s been his practice since the grass woke up this spring.
     I’ve been very sleep deprived so I can only hope that what I write makes some sense. I’d like to think that my observations about my home and neighborhood—like the fact that there are at least 9 dogs in my cul-de-sac—aren’t just some crazy ramblings of someone with way too much sit-around time. I want them to prove that somehow I can still make sense of my surroundings.
     On an average April day I wouldn’t care a lick about anything I’ve just mentioned, but while I’m laid aside with an injury and my family is all home due to social distancing recommendations I’ve come to appreciate the little things more. I’ve had to slow down to notice them.
     Americans like loud music, fast cars, fast food, and busy schedules. Whenever we get a moment where our attention doesn’t have to be on something specific we can be found mindlessly swiping our thumbs across our smartphones. “Downtime” has been replaced by “screen time” and I think we are worse for it.
     If you asked if I have learned anything over the past month I’d have to top the list with Psalm 46:10. It says, “Be still and know that I am God.” When does someone need to be told to be still? When they’re too loud and too fidgety; too frantic and too distracted. But if we will yield to the call we will get a sense of something that’s hard to notice with AirPods and Instagram. What is it? Knowledge of God.
     Information about God is one thing. Knowing deep down that God is always present, that he is love, that he is true and faithful. These things can be acknowledged with a passing nod in the distracted high volume world we live in. But, only those who can tear themselves away from it come to “know” that he really is the “friend that sticks closer than a brother” (Pr. 18:24).
     Discovering the detail around my home is one thing, but discovering the voice of God in the whispers of his word in the night; his calming voice in the Psalms; the poetry of pain in the book of Job all come running to us in the stillness. Those who experience it soon find that they crave it more and more.

Stephen Curtis Chapman has known great joy and suffering. He wrote a song called, "Be Still and Know" that's well worth a listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgaHaioAjyg