Be Still at the Window

Find a window, or the nearest thing you have to one.

Sit down. Put your feet flat on the floor. If there's a cup nearby, hold it in both hands and feel the warmth come through.

~ Breathe in slowly. Breathe out more slowly.

Look at the light. Don't try to describe it. Notice where it falls: across the table, along a leaf, on the back of your hand. It came a very long way to land right there. It didn't hurry, and it isn't worried about arriving late.

~ Breathe in. Breathe out.

Let one worry come to mind. Don't chase it, and don't argue with it. Look at it the way you'd look at a tool you picked up by mistake: this isn't the one I need right now. Set it down on the table. It'll still be there later if you want it.

~ Breathe in. Breathe out.

Now hear these words, said quietly, as if from the chair across from you:

"Be still, and know that I am God."

Be still. You don't have to be productive or impressive. You don't even have to have the right words.

Know. This isn't about having every answer. It's the kind of knowing that comes from being near someone.

That I am God. Which means you don't have to be.

~ Breathe in. Breathe out.

Stay as long as you need. When you get up, take the stillness with you, even a small piece of it, the way you'd carry warmth from a cup into the cold.