My God thrives in stillness, nothingness, an absence of anything. It is there He moves, there He speaks, there He opens hands to create
I live off quiet too. It’s where I grow. So when the noise of life and people who don’t know any better thickens, I walk away. I find a corner, a nook, a haven of stillness, and it is there that I can be.
There is a river in the stillest of places. Its flowing streams make Him glad. The root drinks up its overflow of joy then shoots it ‘cross the galaxies to waken morning eyes and guide their steps.
It’s funny how stillness can speak so loudly. How a stream of words unspoken can hold back armies, strengthen soldiers, bid a king to write a book of praises
How solitude can show a man a window into everlasting rooms, rooms for sheep looking to the shepherd and the lamb seated on a throne of glory both now and coming soon.
I’ve been barefoot for a year now and my feet will show the scars. The wounds are raw still, but the voice calls me to the water
Wash away the dirt. Rinse away the blood. Sit and rest by streams of life and calm, soon you will work among the fray as I move mountains to the sea.
I made your heart to hold my peace.