I bend low, down onto my knees, and poke my head under the bottom pantry shelf, the place I’ve been dreading to look. Just as I suspected: mouse poop galore. Just like the space under the sink, in the oven drawer, in the towels, along the backs of every cupboard shelf. It’s just a picture of this season–a time to clean up the fruit of neglect. A busy season means mice creep in and weeds grow up. And now it’s time to do away with both.

It’s been quiet here at home. Which is nice. It had been a long, busy, noisy season and I’m happy for the change of pace. But I also find that slowing down means I notice a lot more.

Like weeds.

And mouse poop.

And a bathtub that won’t drain.

And dusty, forgotten toys underneath beds.

On the one hand, I truly enjoy a slower pace. I’m a home-body and my favorite times are no-agenda days where the kids and I can play and learn and clean and just be. But I also find that slowing down–really slowing down–allows me to notice all the things that, to be completely honest, I’d rather not notice.

Like fears.

And insecurities.

And a restless heart.

And hidden, forgotten wounds that still just haven’t quite healed.

All those things never went away. They just got covered up with commotion, right? And what are quiet seasons for if not to sit in the silence and take a long brave look at all that is broken and still needing His miraculous, healing touch?

And what is silence for if not to wait for His voice that calms all fears and stills all storms?

I think back to the weeds, all those weeds. And how I spend all weekend digging them all up–deep down, from the root. And how we hauled them off in wheelbarrow loads, and how the ground looks so bare and ugly. Like pruning–a whole lot of hard work only to make something look worse off than before.

But how something looks and how something is are two different things, yes?

It is the quietest courage that makes the mundane choices throughout the day to believe God and refuse to escape or distract and to go ahead and dig up all the commotion and take a look at the bare-ugliness and know this: God will plant something beautiful. 

The quietest courage chooses the right thing when no one is watching. The quietest courage says Yes to God as He silently works His heart-surgery in us all day.

The quietest courage is brave enough not only to say, “Yes, Lord, I will go!” but even to say, “Yes, Lord, I will stay.”

Stay in this quiet space and listen, rest, know that You are God. 

Prone to wander, Lord I feel it,

Prone to leave this God I love.

Take my heart, Lord, take and seal it,

Seal it for thy courts above.

{May He give you the quietest courage today to stay, quiet, rest, know He is God. Thanks for reading.}

6 thoughts on “The Quietest Courage”

  1. Thanks so much for this, Kari. It expresses so much of what I’ve felt these past couple of weeks. Beautifully said.

  2. Lately, I’ve been touched by every post you’ve written. Your style of writing and honesty really draws me in as a reader. May God continue to bless you and your writing.

  3. Thank you. What a perfect picture. After reading the first few paragraphs I had to stop and read it out loud to Nathan because it is the perfect picture of what I feel like I’ve gone through/am going through. I feel renewed in my journey of a quiet life. Thank you.

  4. Gooooood word. Man, lots of what you’ve been writing lately has really been hitting me. Thank you so much for your faithfulness to get such amazing content written.

  5. Like others, totally tracking with you on this one. Yes, how it looks and how it is can surely be two different things entirely. Why are we so consumed with how things look–too often neglecting the “inside of the cup”? God knows us, that’s for sure! “Man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks on the heart.” You’ve quoted one of my favorite lyrics from our family hymn, too 🙂 Staying, listening (as best I can with much loss of sleep between two little ones and sick husband lol). Thanks again, Kari, for this good word.

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