Don’t you know I calm the raging sea?
I was standing at our kitchen sink. Warm water running clear over left-out dishes from the day. Scrubbing unseen food particles off with soap so blue it seems unnatural.
I had a song playing on repeat through the speaker on top of the refrigerator. The same song that had stolen my heart with snippets. Disjointed words and a striking melody that has played in my head for weeks equally unremembered and yet at the tip of my tongue. It took me three days to find it. As the water ran over my hands, He whispered the words as the artist softly sang them. In that way that only He can whisper. The kind of whisper that has a weight to it.
Don’t you know I hold your heart?
I was washing this morning’s long-since-cold coffee from the oversized mug that Josh loves so much. He likes the larger mugs. I like the smaller ones. We have his and hers mugs in our cupboard. It’s quintessential. I like it.
I held the mug for a moment longer than is normal for dish washing. And I held it in both of my hands, fingers wrapped around the actual cup. Feeling the grooves of the pottery. The other night, I was talking with the girls on our lanai about how faithful God is to put our marred hearts of clay onto His potters wheel and smooth out the imperfections.
I felt His hands over mine, pressing in. I felt the wet clay. The spinning wheel. Imperfections smoothing. Anxiety calming.
Child listen slow down.
Give me the patience to be still. I just prayed those words less than a week ago. Bolded and underlined in my journal. And then repeated again one page over for good measure. Calm my anxious heart. The anxiety blots out Your Spirit like a wet blanket. Calm the anxiety. Calm the waters. Hover over my face. And whisper truth. Give me the patience to be still. LORD press Your hands onto me.
I felt His hands pressing in. Oh how faithful He is to answer the smallest, and yet most intendedly worded prayers.
I speak to you in miracles.
The tears fell. Miracles are a tricky thing for me. Because they are nothing for Him. And yet they seem to be so elusive.
Did you know the word “miracle” is only mentioned ten times in the entire Bible? And only once in the Old Testament. It’s in Exodus 7 when Moses and Aaron appear before Pharoah – right before all the plagues start.
The true etymology was long unknown, but it has come to be associated with its root word: to be beautiful. A beautiful or splendid deed. There’s the acts of miracles all throughout scripture. But the actual word is only used a few times. And as the water washed over my hands and onto the dishes, the words washed over my heart.
I have breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. That’s a miracle. And it’s beautiful.
He speaks to me. That’s a miracle. And it’s beautiful.
He has taken my heart of stone and replaced it with a heart of flesh. That’s a miracle. And it’s beautiful.
He has given me His Spirit as a seal of redemption. That’s a miracle. And it’s beautiful.
I am His and He is Mine. That’s a miracle. And it’s beautiful.
I have found my life in Him. My hope in Him. My everything. That’s a miracle. And it’s beautiful.
He loves me. He loves me. That’s a miracle. And it’s beautiful.
Salvation and grace. That’s a miracle. And it’s beautiful.
Heaven. That’s a miracle. And I’m sure it’s far beyond beautiful.
So come. Listen to My still small Voice. As dishes sit drying. And the melody repeats itself. And the laptop battery dies and the pen runs out of ink. Come. Take My hand. I’ll lead you by still waters.
Even if those still waters are found while washing dishes.