May 16, 2005 - Be Still and Know

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Be Still and Know
By Gwen Spell
May 16, 2005

Today I was able to indulge my grief during a rare moment of solitude.

My son, Tyler, left earlier this afternoon, going to Youth Prayer Meeting. That he was going alone, in his own car, is an entirely new experience for me.

Neither of my boys ever liked to see me cry. I've had years of experience in hiding my tears from them. (Although many times, the quick, concerned glances they cast my way let me know that my attempt had failed.) Still, the habit of hiding prevails.

Last night following our Sunday evening service, Tyler took his girlfriend on their first date. Their first driving date, that is.

My heart squeezed as I drove home alone. It hurt a little bit when I entered my silent home. Alone. I prayed that God would allow this son to return home to me safe and sound. That I could keep this son with me. My 17 year-old son, Matt went to Heaven following his battle with leukemia.

Being still in this fast-paced, ever-changing, constantly moving world has become almost nonexistent. Yet, there is much to be gleaned when we are still, when we take the time to listen with our heart rather than our ears alone. The psalmist wrote, “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10); “The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge” (Psalm 46:11).

On this day, I indulge my grief with thoughts that so often I push to the farthest corners of my mind. Matt is never coming back home, to this place that we have called home for so many years. He will never sleep within these four walls that keep Tyler and me safe. I will never see him again during my journey as a mortal. Today, it is a crushing thought.

So, because I am home alone, I cry. Great wracking sobs of sorrow. I know there is plenty of time for me to compose myself. Time for me to replace the mask that I usually wear before Tyler returns. I tell God that He is Faithful. I cry more. I tell God that He is good. I sob. I tell God that I Trust Him. I cry as loudly as I want.

I am not still. I am not silent. I do not listen with my heart. I do not listen with my ears.

My heart is broken. I tell God that I know that I am cradled in the palm of His hand. I tell him that I am blessed. I thank Him for His goodness to me. I beg Him to help me. And…

In the midst of my grief, I began to calm down. In the silence, I listen—with my heart and ears.

The silence enfolds me. Much like one of the warm blankets that St. Jude has for their precious patients. Kids like my Matt, patient number 18164. St. Jude Children's Research Hospital has huge stainless containers filled with dozens of white, warm blankets for their children. What a luxury it was. I can still hear Matt's voice saying, “Mom, will you get me a warm blanket please?”

I remember his deep sigh of contentment as I tucked it snugly beneath his chin. I remember the smile as he drifted off to sleep. Where, for a brief moment, he could escape his world of cancer.

This afternoon, I lay on the floor of his bedroom and pour out my hurt. I have to once again convince myself that my son has really (in a natural sense) died. I feel the presence of God as it lifts my spirit and cradles it in the palm of His hand.

The tears dry on my cheek. My sobs cease. I am sheltered in the refuge of His arms. He is my most Faithful Friend. I am blessed. I refuse to think otherwise.

Once again, on this day when I allow myself to be still, I am reminded that He is truly good to me.

Yes, yes, I am truly blessed.

ninetyandnine.com

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Gwen Spell is the mother of two boys, Matt and Tyler. Tyler is 16 years old and Matt is Forever 17. Tyler lives here with me and Matt lives in heaven. She is a member of First United Pentecostal Church of Denham Springs, Louisiana.