God says, “Be still, and know that I am God!” (Psalm 46:10a NLT). I wonder how “they” decide where to place exclamation points in scripture. This one startles me, like maybe God just shouted a little bit. It’s like He knows it takes an act of nature to shake me out of performing and perfecting.

Learning to be still with Jesus is an ongoing pursuit for me. For years my habitual quiet time in the morning was infused with a hurry/produce mentality. I focused my time around memorizing a chapter of the Bible or reading one chapter of a book each day. I would journal all my angst, problems, and frustration over my lack of control. Ever so slowly I have learned to be still in God’s presence. Learning to be without an agenda has often resulted in tears. For most of my life I didn’t know what it was like to be seen and loved. As I came to experience Jesus, I cried many tears: tears of joy over being loved for no reason, and tears of grief over releasing who I was striving to be. 

After a long season of either crying or feeling “blank” in my quiet times, I began to listen. I got really honest. I learned to take inventory of my heart. The thing about sitting with Jesus is that He doesn’t meet me where I wish I was; He meets me where I actually am.

I remember the day I was sitting in my “prayer chair” looking into the expansive greenness of a large tree near the window. I was thinking about trusting God, and realized that I could not pray, “I trust You today.” I didn’t trust God. I had no idea what He would ask me to do and I had no intention of handing Him my life to do with as He pleased. This was hard to admit. It’s kind of awkward when you’ve been a Christian for 30 years and realize you still think you’re a better god than God.

But I can’t manage trust the way I manage brushing my teeth. It doesn’t happen because I write it on my schedule. It happens when I get to know someone who’s trustworthy.

My honest reflection landed me here: I want to want to trust God. That’s two levels away from actually trusting, but it was a start: the beginning of “starting over” getting to know God. A year or two later a day came where I felt that God just might manage my day better than I could. Trust. Built on honesty, hard questions, arguments, and the discovery that God is emotional safety on steroids. Often I didn’t know my own heart, but Jesus brought it to the surface so we could engage with it together. At first this took a long time, but gradually it happened faster.  

Other things flowed into my quiet time as well. I began to enjoy praying for all kinds of people: family, friends, acquaintances, classmates, neighbors, strangers. I began to catch myself when I started to rant and have a pity party, and instead make a choice to say what I was thankful for, or to praise God for who He is, or to revisit a promise or a truth He had previously given me. Quiet time became a daily opportunity to be seen and loved, no matter what state I was in.

Then, because God is absurdly good to me (I am His favorite child), this practice of stillness filtered into other parts of my day. I began to experience more emotional safety in relationships, and I watched the clock less when spending time with people. God invited me to do daily tasks one at a time, relieving my exhausting mental multitasking. I began to seek stillness and allow tears or rest instead of pushing myself harder when tired. Fruits of the Spirit like patience—for which I had cajoled God for years—began to show up.

One week last fall was ridiculously busy. I was harvesting and processing garden produce, preparing for my daughter’s birthday, and putting together a chapel talk for my kids’ school, in addition to writing several hours more than usual. The kids got sent home from school one day because of a power outage, and I felt behind all week. As I watched myself go through the week I noticed unusual behaviors: I didn’t demand that my family be as busy as me. I didn’t get up early, stay up late, or skip meals to keep being productive. I didn’t make long lists and then freak out when I only finished half. I took short naps. I took time to be still in the mornings and evenings. I often engaged in the task I was doing without rehearsing the next five tasks in my mind. I was flexible when timelines or events changed.

I didn’t even know that was possible. 

I have a sneaking suspicion that God knew.

It was still a tough week, but there was a taste of grace. I was impatient sometimes. I complained about all I had to do. At times, I stilled my body but my mind and spirit didn’t follow suit. Yet there was a breeze of grace that has not often been present. There was a tendency to stop when I felt anxious or tired, instead of going faster. There was an acceptance of the times when stillness was a physical choice but mental rest didn’t follow.

One afternoon I started a fire in the outdoor fire pit, with great hopes of enjoying a deep breath in my spirit. I sat down with a blanket and a book. I started a poem about my tangled feelings. But I ended up more anxious than I began. Sometimes that’s how it goes. 

I bumble along, and God persistently shows up. I am humbled, and grateful to the point of tears, for all the moments that were redeemed by His grace that long week. The times when I helped my children instead of demanding they go faster. The times I snuggled with my husband instead of doing one more thing. Participating with my daughter in baking and party preparations. Time spent with friends. These were all gifts from a persistent God who shows me the beauty of stillness despite my adamance that going fast and doing more is a noble agenda which He ought to adopt with me. 

Stillness is an act of trust. Stillness is changing my life.