Be Still: When The Still Small Voice Isn't Still or Small

Be still and listen.

Be still and know.

Beautiful words and sentiments, except that me and "being still" don't really get along that well.

Still is my uncomfortable zone.

Being still sounds glorious, and I often long for the chance to experience it.  However, every time it gets near, my emotional immune system rejects it like a virus, like it is a foreign body trying to infiltrate my being.  I seem to have antibodies that won't allow "being still" to exist for long periods of time in my life.

I get along better with change and newness.  My comfort zone is a moving target.  Every time that my life starts to settle in, every time that it starts to feel comfortable, it makes me uncomfortable.

There is  a restlessness stirring in me.  My still, small voice is yelling at me, because it doesn't want to be still or small.

So I pray for discernment, because I struggle with the concept of being still.  I sometimes wonder if I need to move out of my comfort zone by staying still, and being still; but I suspect that my still, small voice was just born to be ornery and loud.

I think that there is a fine line between being still and being stagnant.  There is a difference between listening to the still, small voice and being a still, small voice.  Stillness intentionally layered within
a full life is like the "rest" between musical phrases, as the song continues to move forward.  The
"rests" of stillness makes the song meaningful, purposeful, and beautiful.  In contrast, stillness at the end of the song means, well, the song is over, and the music has died.  As I take my rest, I know that it is a pause, but that the song will continue to crescendo.

Be still and listen for a time.

Be still and know that the song will continue.

Be still so that you can move forward again, not so you can stay.