Centered in Silence

I need more, I need more.

There is a commercial on TV these days with an adult and four children. The children keep changing, but the adult remains the same, and keeps asking questions. The children respond with common sense and imagination. I like watching how creative the answers are, especially with the far left answers. They answer like kids. I hope they are not too scripted. (If they are, then it is even more brilliant writing.)

But one of the segments is when a girl responds about how she needs more. Importantly, more can be especially scarce when it is something really good. We want more, and we want more, and we can’t have it.

I identify with her. Don’t I want more of a good thing? Don’t you?

Isn’t that what we always want? More of a good thing? But limits get in our way and we cannot find our way around them. So we get aggravated and tired of the limits, and try to look for more ways to get that thing that we want.

Recently, I’ve been running on empty. I would try to get energy, and accomplish it for a little while. But then I’d go back to the slump, back to the migraine, and back to being exhausted. When you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel, it’s hard to be generous.

Splinters creep into the sustenance.

I didn’t stop going, I didn’t stop giving, but I had less and less of me to share. It’s hard to find restoration when you are only depending on yourself. Not that I don’t have a team of support, trust me, I do. But I was having trouble garnering energy where I needed it most.

I’d pray, I’d go and center, but I’d find myself back in the middle of a slump. A weather front would come through, and put me in bed.

Sometimes the answer to a prayer is a period of silence.

It’s terrifying. The silence can feel like it is taking over, and will whirl up all the debris and refuse in your life. The roar begins, and all you can hear is the whirlwind. It’s deafening.Storm Rolls In

Eventually, even the strongest hurricanes blow themselves out. And life begins to pick up the pieces, patching sores, and healing scars. But it takes time. And it takes help.

One of the ways I am finding help is in the silence of God. I go into my space for prayer, lie in the presence of God, and center. I enter into silence, and journey deep into the heart of God. I become heavy in the presence of God. God anchors me, and sets my foundation on the cornerstone of Jesus.

I don’t always feel that way when I center. I have days on end where the silence is fleeting; I cannot quiet the swirling thoughts. There is grace in that. Grace is in the swirling thoughts because it is a time spent in the presence of God. Life is renewed regardless of how well I feel I have accomplished my task.

I have more. I have more of the gift of silence; I have more to give to others. The fount from God has begun to fill me up again. I drift into the center, where God places me into her holy presence.

I live again.

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