A clear mountain lake nestles beneath majestic mountains,
and my eye is drawn to the space between, where the water is channelled into a
stream or waterfall and disappears into apparent infinity. It’s just a picture
on my laptop, but it draws me towards God.
Be still and know that I am God. I am God.
Those final three words seem to cohere this morning,
resisting being divided at all. What do I learn from this phrase? Where does it
take me?
I see the gracious humility of the Almighty God himself, who
doesn’t require me to fall down and worship, or get up and serve, but rather to
be still and receive. To roll back the ceiling I’ve constructed between my own
thoughts and God, and allow myself to be immersed and saturated in knowing that
He is God.
What else is there to know?
Yesterday I said, what a relief! Again, yes, a relief to
know that I am not God, nor am I expected to come up with all the right
answers. That releases me into freedom, which brings with it joy and fullness
of life. I can sing like that bird I’m hearing, sing in the shadow of His
wings, knowing that He is God, and I can
fully trust in Him. He has no beginning; he has no end; he always is God.
Outside of time.
It invites me, draws me, to consider again his attributes,
his character, and try to understand something of the depth of his love for me,
and for all creation.
And so, in wonder, awe and praise, I want to continue in the
stillness He invites me to, throughout this busy Saturday, rejoicing as a child
does in the pure delight of the knowledge that He is God, and that He has the
whole world, from its vastness to its minuteness, from its beauty to its
cruelty, in His love-scarred hands.
Be still and know that I am God.
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