be still, and know

I was sitting by my bedroom window, journaling prayers like, "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it," and "I'm so tired of thinking about this." Why. What. How. It isn't fair. I don't get it. Tell me.

Outside on the sidewalk, a little girl in bright pink capris and a pale pink hoody, her blonde hair in sloppy pigtails, pushed herself down the center of the apartment complex on her scooter. She must've hit a stone or a crack in the sidewalk, because she toppled over and just sat there, stunned.

Her pre-teen brother came up behind her on his skateboard. "Uh-oh. Are you okay?"

She started to wail like both her hands had been cut off. I remember those sidewalk falls: The way that pebbles and dirt would leave craters and scrapes on your palms and knees. Painful enough for tears, yes, but not for amputation-worthy screams.

"Come on, let's go inside." Her brother pulled her up by her elbow and she staggered into the grass as though now both her ankles had been broken.

She screamed louder, and I was amused. Children.

Then her dad came around the corner. "Are you okay?" He asked calmly. "Let Daddy see."
She howled.
"Roxine. Let Daddy see."
More wailing.
"Roxine."
Intense, gut-deep screams.
"ROXINE."
Silence.
"Let Daddy see."
He looked at her hands and led her inside their apartment.

That's when I started laughing. I had judged this little girl like a righteous adult thinking, "Oh, how wee little ones overreact to their surroundings."

But then I realized that I am that tiny pink girl, focusing so hard on the little scrapes and screaming so loudly, and God just so patiently stands by waiting for me to calm down enough for Him to heal me.

I think that "be still, and know that I am God" could also be translated into the profound, soul-changing truth that the Lord is trustworthy to be completely vulnerable with.

He knows you, heart and soul, and He will never stop loving you. He never asks you to figure it out or transform yourself. He just wants to be the fullness of who He is, in you. It's up to us to let Him.

Let Daddy see.