Massachusetts
“Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)
It had rained on and off for most of the day. The kids were high-spirited and housebound. My dining room looked like a battlefield, with toy tanks lined up across the table and bed sheets draped across the furniture as make-believe tents.
When another glass of milk spilled on the freshly scrubbed kitchen floor, I slipped into my coat and told my children to have everything cleaned up by the time I returned.
I walked and walked until darkness began to settle in, then I took a shortcut through the cemetery. When the rain became heavier, I sheltered beneath a tree. Standing in that quiet place away from the bustle of the late afternoon traffic, for the first time in days, a tranquil peace filled me. A peace where no words were spoken, just a whisper to my soul, “Be still and know that I am God.”
Reluctant to emerge from this peace, I stayed for a while and noticed nearby a row of moss-covered gravestones from the eighteen hundreds. The largest stone said, “Mother,” and the five smaller ones were those of her children.
This was not some mother in a far-off land, but one who had lived in our small New England town. A mother had lost and mourned five babies ranging from one year old to eight years old. Surely, she would have given her very life to have a day like the one I had, with happy, healthy children. She probably would have been thankful for their liveliness as well.
In the stillness of those moments at dusk, I saw how blind I had been, as that gentle prodding voice showed me that a mother’s greatest gifts are her children.
That day I discovered it is often in the quiet moments, when we are still, that our Lord comes to us to light our path and show us the way.
Retrieved from a page in my spiritual journal.
_________________________________________________________________
Read more Good News here.