The house is a mess. Books, mail, toys clutter every available inch of surface space, threaten to engulf the dining room table. More than a week of busyness has left this home neglected, ignored. Piles of laundry fill a corner of the bedroom, a pile of dishes in the sink. Cracker crumbs from last night's dinner litter the high chair tray and the floor around it and I feel overwhelmed.I kneel down and begin picking up the play items, a complaint rising in my chest. But before I let the words escape from my lips, I hear a whisper. "Be still." It flutters through the room, lighting like a butterfly on the tip of a rose, then is off again. "Wait, come back and say it again," I whisper. I need to hear that again. But it's gone, disappearing like morning dew.
I pick up toys, sort through mail. I move chairs and sweep where they stood, a pile of dust collecting next to the baseboard. The vacuum cleaner comes out from its dark closet and its quiet hum echoes from the walls. The trash is emptied, the sink cleared. The dishwasher runs and it seems deafening in the stillness of the morning. The melody of house cleaning pierces the silence, but between stanzas, I hear it again, the soft whisper, like a breath on my skin. "Be still."Be still. I think about the phrase over and over again, as I shuffle magazines and newspapers to their homes, as I pick up building blocks and board books and put them in a basket. I fold blankets and the phrase resonates in my core, "Be still. Be still." The scripture comes to mind, "Be still and know that I am God." I can't get it out of my head, like a song that you can't escape. The melody of this though, seems unfinished, as if there was more to say before the writer abandoned his tablet. I lose focus and sit down to look up the verse, but instead I find this one: He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. In the midst of the storm, His command rang out, "Be still."
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