Maybe we've forgotten how...
... to sit still enough that timid creatures dare approach us ... to be quiet enough that he will open his mouth to speak ... to listen long enough that she will open her heart and not only her mouth ... to plan a day with enough space that our whole day isn't planned ... to move through life and not miss it
But maybe this harried rush is only a symptom of a heart that fears the stillness. Because in the stillness, our heartbeat testifies to the fact that we're still alive. In the stillness, we cannot escape the rhythmic pound of a heart declaring that it wants more--wants to be and give and love more than it can in the frantic confines of our self-imposed haste.
Busyness might kill us, but it's relatively painless. It's the stillness that lets us long, that invites us to dream dreams that might not come true, that nudges us to love a neighbor who might not love us back.
We ache for more. So we fill our days with more. But our days were not crying out to be filled--our hearts were.
And my heart still cries out from the midst of the chaos that I thought would feed it.
And He still cries out from above the fray.
And maybe I could lean back against Him and relearn the rhythm of His heartbeat.
And maybe mine would slow to match it.
And maybe in His presence I would find courage to rest in the stillness that allows longing but also allows living.
Because somehow God, who isn't bound by time, has bound us up in time. He has wrapped Himself around my heart today, and I keep rushing toward tomorrow. And maybe if I learned to fully live in today, I would stop struggling against His grip and learn to rest in it.
Maybe today is not so much about living in the moment but about living in Him--living in our place in His presence.