Cannot Yet Quiet My Soul

I remember looking down at my babies as they slept quietly, contently, in my arms. There was almost a tangible trust and peacefulness there - a calm that can never be truly expressed with words. I often found (and still find) myself wondering if I ever had that same quiet trust.

Somewhere, at some point in time, the harshness of the world invaded my soul. There was no quiet. There was no peace. There was no quiet trust in parents, or in God. I saw God in the same light I saw my parents - uncaring, abusive, cruel, chaotic.

As I matured (ok, so perhaps "matured" isn't the right word, as I am still quite immature) and was mentored (just within the last couple years) I began to separate God from my parents. I began to understand Him as loving, nurturing, trustworthy. But this did not change my chaotic soul. I start to find some calm and then the harshness of the world sweeps in like a violent tornado, taking me with it.

Tonight, in Bible study, we read the story of Jesus with Martha and Mary, where Mary sits quietly at Jesus feet, listening to Him whilst Martha scurries about busy with everything she felt needed to be done. The past few weeks, I have been Martha. I've been worrying about everything happening, and everything needing to be done. I haven't allowed myself to simply sit at Jesus feet and listen. I haven't given myself a chance to focus on God, and on allowing Him to bring me comfort and peace.

I am still trying to learn how to remain calm in the storm; how to trust God through the turmoil; how keep my soul at peace in the midst of the world's screams.

I am still in need of someone telling me "Peace, Brandi, Peace"... someone reminding me to breath and be calm and let myself feel the peace of Christ.

Psalm 131:2 (NRSV)

But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
    like a weaned child with its mother;
    my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.

Perhaps, some day, I'll get there... Although, I must admit, for a moment I felt that quiet tonight. A very brief moment, but a moment all the same.

May the peace of Christ be with you all...

Water

A couple weeks ago, a good friend lent me a book to read - "Traveling Mercies." Due to dwindling time-frames, I pushed aside a couple books given to me by other friends (Sorry David and Tim... I'll read your next. Promise!), and became immersed in this memoir which was flooded with spirituality. While I had to read it in parts (half yesterday, half this morning) because of it affecting me more than most books do, I was able to finish it today.

There is a part in there, near the end of the book, where the author (Anne Lamott) discusses the importance of water in Christianity. Or rather, about how Christianity is about water. "It's about surrender, giving in to all those things we can't control; it's a willingness to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched."

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I stood under the water this morning, the steam circling around me, the hot shower flowing over me, around me, through me. I stared up into the stream, letting it wash over my face, my eyes. I cupped my hands, filling them with the lovely liquid, feeling it trickle from between my fingers; feeling it spilling over my flesh, washing over me.

As the water flowed over my cupped hands, spilling at my feet, I felt a sense of peace I haven't felt much as of late. A sense of sorrow mingled in the midst, but peace as well. Subconsciously, I reached up and traced the shape of a cross I could feel burning on my forehead. A tear or two mixed unnoticed with the heated drops from the shower. The burning cross on the forehead was not a painful burning - just one of warmth, and calm. But it did stir a painful sorrowful burn in my heart.

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It was my birthday (29, for the 10th year in a row). The year had been rough, particularly the last few months. My life had been tough. And for the first time that I can recall in my life, I had reached out for help. We sat talking... a good friend and I.... and I think it was through frustration by him towards me - due to my ability to cast blame upon myself at all times - this friend finally figuratively dragged me to the front of the sanctuary, to the baptismal font.

It was there, at that time and on that day, I felt the water. I dipped my hand into the frigid water - frigid water which, while flowing through my fingers, brought me warmth. It was there, at that time and on that day, that he wet his finger with the water and placed a cross on my forehead. I was baptized as a baby, as most of us are, but this - on my 38th birthday - was the first time I truly felt the Holy Spirit with and within me.

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Today, as I stood under that shower, my body and soul bared for God and none other, I felt Him again. I felt the water cleanse me, wash over me, renew my spirit, calm my aching heart.

""The hope, the belief, is that a new day is upon you now. A day when you are emboldened to take God at God's word about cleanness and protection. 'When thou passeth through the water, I will be with thee; and through the rivess, they shall not overflow thee'." (Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott)