Grace in the Stillness

where is God in the in-between?

“Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.”

–Frederick Beuchner

I recently sat in silence and wondered if I’ve grown at all this year. After a colossally devastating May, the months have felt like a lingering limbo.

The death of a close family member. Settling into a new home. Chasing unfulfilled dreams.

I hated the unsettling in-betweenness, waiting for redemption promised yet not completely fulfilled. I watched this precious life as a weary observer stuck behind aquarium glass.

How is this stillness an invitation? It’s a time to pause and consider that security is not found in a flurry of activity for Christ. Identity, too, isn’t found in the spiritual report card I wear on my sleeve to quell some sense of failure.

Sustained silence has freed me to recognize these acute feelings––the lie that I have nothing to offer, the fear that the beauty I want to create will always be held back by my flawed, broken hands.

But Jesus’s light pours into the hiddenness. Gospel assurance is a steadfast foundation. God is still active and powerful, making new a heart caught in inertia.

Henri Nouwen writes, “The wisdom of the desert is that the confrontation with our own frightening nothingness forces us to surrender ourselves totally and unconditionally to the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Peace, joy, rest are possible because the Creator became man and invaded these liminal spaces we hold in our fragility.

Lonely quietude is an invitation to be attentive. To not cower in fearful dread but to lean into the Love that will not let us go.

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On a sunset walk last week, I gasped at the steady sound of a flowing stream. The creek next to our house finally held water. It was dry for months, and I had forgotten the sound of its fullness.

Emptiness is not final. The barren creek was patiently cared for, so the rush of water would abundantly come in due time.

Perhaps you feel caught between the bright joy of the holidays and the present weight of these waning days. May you deeply experience the tender presence of a Savior who will never leave or forsake you.

In the waiting, I pray that you find sustaining grace swept in when you weren’t looking, bringing a flood of beauty in the night.