February is nearly gone.

I flip the page in my daily planner to find this image on the March tab:

I am still, in contemplation of the message.

First thought: The Bible verse that has repeatedly reverberated throughout my life, ever since a youth minister gave me a plaque that hung on my bedroom wall during my teenage years: Psalm 46:10, Be still and know that I am God. The rest of which reads: I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.

A reminder that I can see so little of the big picture of events, why they unfold the way they do, and that I must trust even as life’s story takes dark and twisting turns. Even so, there’s awe to be found. Always. I am not the author of life, not even my own. Someday it will end, as it does for us all. In the meantime…living well means finding this stillness every day. Tapping into the underlying currents of perspective and meaning…here’s where writing becomes an invaluable gift. Sometimes you can’t know what you think or feel until you begin to write.

Within that stillness eventually comes gratitude for the gift of life itself, imperfect as it is. To what or whom is this gratitude directed? For me: God. Whatever sadness, mourning, grief, anger, irritation, guilt, worry that gnaws at my soul, it is stilled to submission, releases its hold, even evaporates like smoke in the wind, in my awe of God. Another verse: Luke 1:37, Nothing is impossible with God.

I know it to be true. When I was a teenager, I could never have envisioned my life now. I was an unlikely candidate for a minister’s wife. Today, my sons serve as pastor and church musician.

Awe. Awe. Awe.

I contemplate the illustration on my planner page. Living things are woven into the words Be still. The upper flowers appear to be cosmos, the Greek meaning orderly, harmonious; the opposite of chaos. These flowers attract pollinators which perpetuate life (note the butterfly). The garden cosmos is often symbolic of knowledge, beauty, and happiness. Be still and know…

The bottom bloom might be Italian leather flower, a form of clematis. A plant app tells me it was the first climbing vine introduced into the garden of Queen Elizabeth I. It has come to represent wisdom, royalty, high aspirations. I look at this bloom, with its leathery-strong petals, and think of resilience. Pereverance. Endurance. Faithfulness. Reliance.

The flower in the center, the least noticeable, seems to be sweet pea. It stands for goodbyes. And thank yous.

This journey called Life is inevitably strewn with pain, with loss, with goodbyes; yet along the path, if we will remember to stop and be still, we can find the sprouts of gratitude. The good is blossoming despite all. In the stillness, maybe only in the stillness, we can breathe that fragrance deep, and be strengthened.

Just the reminder I needed.

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with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the Tuesday Slice of Life Story Challenge