Our lights went out the other night. It happens in farm country this time of year. A piece of equipment gets caught in something crucial. A pole snaps. The house goes quiet.
After the kids were in bed, I fumbled around for camping lanterns in the garage so I could go inside and finish the projects I had planned to do. I had the door open to let in more light to help me in my search. In the whisper of the wind, I felt an invitation.
I resisted at first, for I had plans of my own. But the invitation persisted, as did the feeling that I was ignoring the One who beckons me to be still. So I slipped on a jacket and walked barefoot to a front porch rocker. As my mind settled, I began to notice sounds:
A car on the highway distant.
Birds singing the day to sleep.
A dog's faraway greeting.
The wind rustling the leaves.
Tree frogs in the woods.
Quiet. . . .
My heart's thoughts.
The peace of the stillness led me to really see:
The clouds' long, slow march to the sea.
The last pink glow of the sky dimming.
The stars appearing by name.
Trees dark against the dusk.
A spider spinning.
The dim light of fading day revealed what the glaring lights I live by had caused me to miss.
And I realized that God sees and hears
that heart's thoughts.
What is man that you are mindful of him? (Psalm 8:4)
And in being still, I KNOW.
And I wonder why I've not done this in so long.
The porch lights flash on. I get up and shut off their glow
. . . to rest in His.