"Stillness comes naturally to me," said no one, ever.
I was in a canoe nights ago on a lake as still as glass. So still, every sound skipped over the surface of the water and time itself seemed to have stopped if only to make sure that I didn't miss the sunset. It was like the silence that steals over a crowd when the curtain rises for a dazzling show. The lake and the silence and the sky were all saying, Pay attention. Stop everything. You don't want to miss this.
Be still. Just be still.
I've had a few devotions in this vein lately—reminders derived from Psalm 46:10's, Be still, and know that I am God. Ironically, most of those reminders probably came on my most chaotic mornings; I wonder if that irony ever occurred to me while I frantically skimmed my daily devotion and then ran along on my merry way to get as much done as I possibly could.
Yup. Still. Nailed it.
Y'all know me: I'm a box-checker and a rule-follower. I feel satisfied (not justifiably, but truthfully) when I've gone through the necessary motions and checked the necessary boxes—devotions, Bible-reading, daily prayers, check! Sometimes I get so locked into my routine of do-do-doing that I forget one of our most important obligations as Christians.
God commands us to make time for stillness. Time to put the doing on hold and to rest in His goodness instead. Time to let God speak and work in our hearts, to shut down our racing minds, and to drink deeply of the grace-filled miracle that is our relationship with the Creator of the Universe.
Whatever you're doing right now, just stop. Take five minutes. Hey, take sixty seconds if that's where you're at. The point is to make that deliberate effort to be still not only in body but in mind and spirit as well. "Stillness comes naturally to me," said no one, ever. Like any skill, it must be practiced, sought, and struggled with. It must be learned.
And the Creator who painted that brilliant sunset just to stop time for you? He is an excellent teacher.