“Be still, and know that I am God!” — Psalm 46:10
“And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” — John 8:32
I was sitting on the floor of the hallway, watching my husband bathe our boys. Two babies in 17 months plus hormones plus emotions plus being a woman and mother and homemaker and person were all wearing me down, and I was trying to find a place to land. My everything was tired. I’d brought my Bible into the hall with me, hoping that somehow I would feel again all of the things I’d felt before — peace, comfort, no real confusion. Oh, I was beyond desperate to feel again. I’d been stuffing Scripture inside of me, hoping it would bring a feeling of refreshment.
I sat there, leaning against the wall, looking into the bathroom, and for the first time in months, I heard a whisper — “What do you know?” There was no strong, swift presence, just the question. In the moment, it didn’t even feel natural and definitely not lovely, but I wrote out what I knew to be true, despite all the things I’d felt or not felt or walked through or needed relief from. It looked very similar to this —
I know Jesus died to heal me and free me.
I know He transforms.
I know He renews.
I know He is bigger than my scars.
I know He can and has overcome.
I know He cares about my heart.
I know He works in my waiting.
I know there is no condemnation in Jesus.
I know I am marked by NOTHING but the blood of Christ. (Not loss, not pain, not guilt, not shame.)
This wasn’t an emotional moment. Despite that, there was power in the knowing, and power in the claiming. In fact, it was more powerful than any feeling I could’ve had in that space, and it has remained one of the markers of my life. When I could do no else, when my hands were emptied of efforts, I suddenly realized the importance of knowing who my God is and what he says about me and the world. When I feel left behind, tired, incapable, insecure, what I know to be true trumps all of that. I know He has empowered me, I know that the same spirit who raised Jesus from the dead lives in me.
In the stillness, in the waiting, when we feel lost or overwhelmed or confused, knowing and claiming the truth deep inside of us are the most sustainable tools we’ve got. Deep roots keep us firm when the storms of life come, and they keep us satisfied in dry seasons. Deep roots are tapped into groundwater. For us, that groundwater is the powerful, powerful truth and person of Jesus.
The feeling of refreshment did come, but it took longer than I thought. I’ve learned that there are all sorts of seasons — seasons of rejoicing, of grief, of energy, of exhaustion. They all come with a special set of emotions, and the Lord is so concerned with these. I believe we should go to Him for all things, for all the feelings we have or don’t have, for all the comfort He provides in His most perfect timing. But in every season, in every moment, peaceful or chaotic, what we know doesn’t change. This is the greatest comfort of all, that our lives can be built on this solid foundation of truth. That Christ’s love never ever changes, that His power goes beyond our circumstances, that He is always present, even when we don’t feel Him, that He cares about every detail of our lives, even when those details seem murky or disconnected or confusing. We can know, in the middle of our doubt and on the highest mountaintop, that He is God, and that all He says is true and constant. All that time I spent pressing into Scripture without feeling a thing, it was worth the truth that buried itself deep underneath the surface.
My prayer for us is that we would know, really know, in all seasons, how wide and deep is the love of Christ, and to know, too, this love that surpasses head-knowledge, that it would take root in the inner recesses of our hearts. (Adapted from Ephesians 3:18-19)