The Room

“Yes, my soul, find rest in God: my hope comes from him.” Psalm 62:5

The Room

I want to share with you the gentle breeze blowing through the trees; the leaves dancing like glossy paper cutouts illuminated by the morning sunlight, and their sound a fairytale ball gown swooshing, swaying, rustling at the pleasure of the wind. I want to share with you the song of the birds; hiding in the awning of the forest, sheltered, happily, spontaneously conversing with the shadows of poplar, birch, and spruce; merry little conversations and gleeful exhalations of purpose, of joy, of freedom. I want to share with you the beautiful, vast and impossibly blue sky and the vibrant, lush and thick green brush, the pearl dew ornamented uncut grass and the irrevocably and profound sense of safety and belonging that tightly wraps its arms around me. This is home.

As I write to you, I sit surrounded by memories. My childhood bedroom full of the best of giggles, the sounds of make believe, the dreams of the future; a room of inquisition and optimism, fidelity and fantasy, peace, joy, and love… green pastures and quiet waters… a place where cribs turned into bunk beds turned into grown up queen size respite. My sisters and I shared this room until I was 16 and if walls could talk, a good deal could be said. But, whatever could be said wouldn’t be because, in truth, the real hiding places, secret gardens, and sanctuaries don’t expose the arguments, the jokes, and the heartfelt conversations of future dreams, love, and faith. No, they protect them, a full treasure chest of timeless wealth and security, trust and constancy.

Every time I come back from my city-buzzing-nonstop-dashing-crazy-busy life, I find this room and in it I am reminded of how blessed my life is. Safe. How blessed I am with the physical place of security. I know that the physical, mortal, temporal things can become damaged goods and return to desert dust. I know that I cannot cling to the monastic environment of memory and childhood because I am called to ‘go out into all of the world’. However, my adventures on the road and in verse have left me with the conscious fact that my rest-filled corner of the world is endangered and I try never to take advantage of my room, the girls’ room, the lilac purple corner of the house full of girly things and colorful creativity. Haven. Refuge. Retreat. Shelter. Hideaway.

There is another place though that won’t take me hours to get to or that bears the weight of temporal. It is consolably the safest place I have ever crawled up into, thrown the blanket over my head, and have deeply, contently sighed and known it to be unchangeable, unfailing, infallible and I call ‘Him’ God. The strength of His arm has protected and defended kings and prophets, gentry and slaves for thousands of years. King David called Him a “hiding place and shield” (Psalm 119:113), Isaiah called Him “a hiding place from storms and rain” (Isaiah 4:6), Nahum “a refuge in times of trouble” (Nahum 1:7), Jeremiah a “strength and fortress, a refuge in times of distress” (Jeremiah 16:19), and Joel “a stronghold for the people” (Joel 3:16). I could take you to a mountain scape or a roaring ocean front and tell you the same unwavering sense of shalom I feel here in my room, but it would not last as long as in the arms of the Prince of Peace.

In finding my place of rest, I always battle feelings of guilt; I should be doing other things, more “productive” things, and this lie robs me of my peace. The closer I get to those lies, the further I am from the truth that I am not as strong as I am when I am in the shadow of the Almighty. I am not as brave as I am when I am wrapped in His will. I am not as alive as I am when listening to the heartbeat of my Lord. I am not as peace filled, joy bursting, love teeming as when I am in the place were it is all about Him. I can see further on His shoulders, I can run faster in His wind, I can rest deeper in His presence.

It is never easy coming back to the place where I acknowledge my need for stillness and rest, but when I release myself into His care, I never regret it. The truth is that we were not given an Eternal businessman to sell us places of rest or doctor to give us a quick fix or a bionic soul to keep us motoring along, counterfeiting our source of peace. We were given a shepherd who knows where we need to rest, when we need to rest, and how long we need to rest. And I am so thankful I have a Shepherd who calls me back to the solace, the hearth, the room, to the green pastures and quiet waters to restore my soul.