I lie across our already-made bed, golden sunshine pouring in the full-length windows, bathing me in its warmth. It’s nine o’clock on Sunday morning. Preparation for our lunch guests is done and we’ll soon be leaving for church. Yet my soul yearns for stillness. I let my eyes slide closed for a few seconds and breathe deep and slow, then flick through my journal to the first clear space and begin to write.

LORD, I rest in You. Thank You for Sabbath, for Your command to rest and Your ability to slow me down. I praise You!

Reaching for my bible, I turn to Psalm 46 and go straight to the verse I know so well. ‘Be still and know that I am God.’ I pause, drinking in the words—be still—and feel my heart, my mind, my whole being winding down. And I marvel that my God commands me to pause and rest in Him.  He knows how much I need it.    

I shift my gaze back to the beginning of the chapter, eager to understand the context of this command.   

‘God is our refuge and strength,

An ever-present help in trouble.’

Ah, trouble. That’s where it begins—when stillness seems the most impossible, yet is the most crucial. I read on, images leaping off the page to strike me with their power. The earth trembles and implodes. Mountains rumble and crash into a wild, foaming sea. I see it in my mind—towering symbols of strength breaking into pieces and plummeting into seething waves. And I hear it—the cataclysmic, deafening roar of disaster.

Then comes verse 4.

‘There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,

the holy place where the Most High dwells.

God is within her, she will not fall;

God will help her at break of day.’

And I am drawn into the eye of the storm—that quiet, anchored place of security in God. Through my faith in Jesus, God now dwells within me by His Spirit. So I will not fall. He will help me at break of day.

I get to verse 6 and I am tossed back into the chaos, this time on a continental scale. Nations in uproar, kingdoms falling. Again, the images are so vivid. Swords clashing, men cursing and raging, blood pouring from countless wounds and smoke rising from burning remains, obscuring the view of bodies crumpled on the ground and muffling their wails of desperation.  

It’s loud and awful and beyond comprehension.

Then God lifts His voice. And everything is reduced to silence.

And all, including me, are brought back to this one truth:

‘The LORD Almighty is with us;

the God of Jacob is our fortress.’

The LORD Almighty. The LORD All Mighty. Wars may come, rulers may rise, but the LORD determines their end—all over the earth. And He takes every weapon of warfare in hand, rending them powerless.

He says, ‘Be still—everything and everyone. Cease! See and understand that I am God. There is no other. I reign over the nations. I reign over the earth. No matter what chaos may come, I will have the final say.’

‘And I am your fortress,’ He says to me. ‘Take refuge in Me and I will surround you with My strength.’

I glance at the clock then rise from the bed and go, hope burning in my chest and new confidence in my stride.