Categorized as Rhonda's Posts

It’s writing day.

Tucking my BOP (Bright Orange Purse) and my EBB (Eddie Bauer Backpack) in just behind me, I drive up Main past Christmas lights shining cheer from Victorian lamp posts.Is there anything prettier than a small-town, Main Street Christmas?

My thoughts, they whirl. Anxiety. Tension. Like a flood, it comes. Vague impressions of failure. Defeat. Discouragement. And my old archenemy–fear.

I whisper it to the One Who Knows. Floundering, panicky, I hardly know where to begin.I feel like I need ‘fixing,’ but where to start? Which thread to pull first?

I’m nearing the coffee shop, blessed haven of light and life, of creativity. It’s still dark. I’m still treading water, and that just barely.

“Be still.” He speaks. “Be still. And know. This is all you have to do right now.”

I scuff through the door, backpack slung over a shoulder. Settling in, hands wrapped ’round a hot, steaming mug, I sit, still.

“Ssshhhh. Still.” Oh, how I love His voice. And like that, a picture comes, child drawn up close ‘longside a great and wise Father.“Sshh.”

Turmoil stills like waves of the sea. All the noise, it vanishes. In that place of commerce where patrons come and go, dishes clink, voices murmur, I’m wrapped as in a cocoon, sitting tight beside a wise and wonderful Father.

“Be still and know that I am God.” Bread of life! A word to sustain. Truth that quiets the storm, waves obeying His command.

Then this, “The Lord of hosts is with us. The God of Jacob is our refuge.”  In the stillness, I feel it. Right there near the Father’s lap is safety. Security. An impenetrable refuge. No noise and clamor here for the Lord of all hosts is with me, and the God of Jacob, He’s my refuge.


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