All day yesterday, I kept hearing that little voice telling me to be still.
I'm not very good at being still. For moments, yes. Early in the morning, yes. But in the midst of a day with lots to be done, in the midst of emotions swirling around and dragging me along? Not so much.
I love the idea that God will fight for me. But I find myself setting limits and windows of opportunities for him to act, and then wanting to charge ahead on my own again when the time's up.
Someone said to me the other day that a powerful racehorse is most powerful when it's bridled.
It's been a while since my horse-y phase. That was junior high school and English riding lessons, days spent at the barn in the Yorkshire Dales, grooming horses and shoveling muck and polishing saddles. Then a lull and another couple of years of horsiness before Audrey was born with more riding lessons, cute jodhpurs, a cantankerous horse, and an obsession with really lovely riding boots.
Anyway, the image stuck with me.
That's what being still felt like yesterday. Wanting to run. And being held back. Wanting to race ahead of myself. And being checked. A mind filled with thoughts in a whirl, spinning with every "what if" and "then what." And hearing a voice say, "Be still."
I want to learn to listen to that voice. To take heed. To rest in it. To wait for the command to run before I go racing off--heedlessly and in the wrong direction.