A Lesson In Stillness – November 16, 2021

I’m the first to admit it. I’m not a winter person. Give me sunshine and a body of water and I’m happy to sit and stare, taking it all in. Here at the coast, there are also a few other things that pique my attention and keep me rooted in my chair.

I am thoroughly entertained by each crab that skitters across the sand and each dog that saunters down the beach. There is a quiet vibrancy. Strings of eastern brown pelicans line up in the sky and play follow the leader as they dip and glide over the sea. Once in a while, a brave one will break formation to dive for fish and when he comes up for air, flaps his wings like mad and tries to catch up with the crowd. I wonder if he gets scolded when he returns!

Despite the cool breeze today and the 66 degree weather that has me zipped up in my hoodie, breathing in the salt air while the sun warms my face is enough. I wonder why so many things at home during the winter months are not enough. Could it be I haven’t slowed down long enough to see them? Here I find it okay to sit for several hours watching a few dolphin fins surface miles out to sea or observe a man with his white surfboard hang out by the waves until he catches a good one. At home I’ve never sat that long and watched anything. What would I see or hear if I sat quietly for a while? Not concentrating on reading or writing or practiced breathing. Just watching and listening, being open to what God wants to show me or whisper in my ears. I fear I may have been missing His whispers because I can certainly hear them in this place.

I do give much credit to my awesome surroundings. However, although my feelings may have a lot to do with being quiet, it may have more to do with being still.

“Be still and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10

Perhaps I always understood the end part of this scripture quote - He is God, but missed the “Be still” part. I am not surprised as I have never been good at being still. I am surprising myself here. The question is, can I transfer this stillness to my life when I leave? I won’t be seeing nesting turtles bask in the sun, watching waving sea oats or hearing crashing waves. I won’t see pink flared lips of conch shells and vibrant orange skies as the sun rises over the horizon. But maybe I’ll see a red cardinal perched upon a tree branch or witness a glistening snowfall upon my lawn. Perhaps a spotted deer will grace the edge of my backyard woods or a winter moon will light up the night sky. Or maybe the steam rising off my hot cup of coffee while I sit by a warm fireplace will be enough.

“Be still and mindful,” said the wise old tree, “Life may seem long; but time will flee.” -Angie Welland-Crosby

If there’s one thing I’ve learned here so far, cultivating stillness is an art form worthy of pursuit.