In the Still of the Night

When I was a kid, I was terrified of the dark ... not just a little scared, but completely and totally terrified. I always slept with a light on, and many nights I would sneak into my mom and dad's room and sleep on the floor beside their bed. As hard as I've tried to remember some event that occurred during my childhood that made me so afraid, I can't recall a single thing.

I'm not sure when that fear of the dark left me, but I'm no longer afraid. In fact, I turn off every light in my house when I go to bed now, except for the light over the stove which I keep on so that I can see when I have to check my blood sugar in the night. I turn off all the lights, climb into my bed and go to sleep.

A few weeks ago, my doctor instructed me to set my alarm and get up a couple of times in the night and check my blood sugar. If it is low, I have to eat something before going back to bed. And each time I get up, my wiener dog J.R. feels that he must get up and accompany me. Julie sleeps through all of my awakenings, but not J.R. He trots right by my side, sits and waits patiently for me to finish my middle-of-the-night routine and then announces that he needs to go outside. Several nights ago, as I was waiting for J.R. to return, I couldn't help but notice the quiet and still of the night. Nothing stirring, no cars driving by, no people talking ... just stillness and complete quiet.

I find it more than slightly interesting that during a stormy time in my life, a time when I'm struggling to find my way, I am forced into the quiet and calm and stillness of the night. Perhaps God is preparing me for something ... perhaps He is bringing me to my knees ... perhaps He is breaking me so that He can change me, grow me, mold me ... perhaps He is calling me to focus solely on Him.

And perhaps, just perhaps, He is simply saying, "Be still, and know that I am God."