I'm here, staring at the empty mattress in my living room, the cards and glasses and board game boxes next to it and I am listening to the rain come down and the boy who lives beneath me talk with his girl about her day.  I am on article eight and I have a stack left to read, a pile of books to scan so that I'll be ready on Thursday for The Presentation.

But I am sitting here and I am distracted by what this room was a day ago, by the way it was laughing and sassing and warm.  My father took me to lunch today and in his own way he saved the day for me.  Now it is night and I am here, here with my research and the promise of snow and a full trashcan that needs to be pulled to the road.

I am here and I am bursting with feeling.  I am suspicious of tears in every eye I see.  I am imagining sorrow in every word of every conversation and the days seem so sharp lately.  So final and pointed and timed.  I am feeling the pull of here and the tug of fear and right when I was on the verge of ignoring them both I read Exodus, The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still.


And so I am sitting here and I am being still in my heart, still in my soul, still in my mind.  I am no longer running, racing, fragmenting.  I am going to do the best that I can, being still and He is going to part the waters, close the mouths of lions, lead me through the wilderness.  And that is not all.  He is going to pour grace onto me, grace and joy and gratitude.

And then here becomes Him and the room becomes full of His glory and my heart moves from feeling to great assurance.  I am still and He is fighting it all, every small thing and every large thing and He is winning these things.  For me.