Still

So, the twins had an unsettled night, as babies do sometimes. I found myself wheeling out the double buggy around 9 am, so the shattered parents could get a bit of respite (if you can call it that, when an active 2-year-old is still with them, just ready for another energetic day…).

All was calm and quiet. Both babies: pictures of peace. For half an hour, when those elusive burps – or something – started them writhing and squeaking and squirming and stretching and, eventually, crying. A brief pause to pick one up and try to bring relief wasn’t a success, so I turned round and kept pushing for home.

Lullabies didn’t cut it. So I decided to have a bit of worship time myself, hoping they might catch a bit of the peace of Christ. ‘Hide me now, under your wings…’ I sang. ‘I will be still and know you are God’.

One settled. Then the other. I kept singing for the next half hour, headed back, worshiping God and soothing those precious babies.

The beauty of God can be contagious. The peace of God can spread to others when we carry it in ourselves. I could have stressed. I could have picked up speed and hoped they wouldn’t be apoplectic and hysterical when I handed them back to the parents. Instead I settled into a rhythm of my own, focused on God rather than on the babies, and sang.

I’m not suggesting it always works. But this morning, it did. Praise Him.

Exhilarated and expectant

The wind howls out of the north this morning, shaking trees, tearing off the last leaves of autumn, squealing through inadequate window sealant. I grimace – if not outwardly, certainly inwardly. This is not my favourite weather. I don’t like the wind.

And yet, the sun is out, the sky is blue, and God gave us a portion of rainbow an hour ago. As I watched the mayhem amongst the trees outside the prayer window, suddenly a bird of prey – a buzzard or a red kite or a hawk – surfed into view, riding the invisible waves of wind. And then he was gone.

On yesterday’s news, there were stunning pictures of a brave (or crazy) surfer in the seas off Portugal, catching a ride on a towering wave that he thought would either be the most exhilarating and incredible ride of his life, or it might kill him. In fact, he escaped with a broken spine. Interviewed from his hospital bed, he sounded cheerful and wistful that the perfect wave had eluded him, this time.

I thought of Attenborough’s Blue Planet 2, which showed dolphins clearly enjoying a stormy surf for the sheer fun of it. 

Stormy weather. Love it or loathe it. Your choice. You’re going to go through it, whether revelling in the adrenalin rush or gritting your teeth and bearing it.

In this world, Jesus said, you will have trouble. Storms and strife. But take heart, for I, Jesus, have overcome the world.

In the words of Hillsong’s ‘Still’, ‘When the oceans rise and thunders roar, I will soar with you above the storm, Father you are king over the flood, I will be still and know you are God.’

Today, I choose to be exhilarated and expectant, inwardly still, knowing He is God. Rainbows. Colour. Life.