Be Still

    I labeled this blog "Struggles and Thoughts" because I wanted somewhere to write things buzzing inside my head, or things I don't feel I can tell to people (yes, I know it seems like an oxymoron to then put it on the internet, where anyone can read it--but I'm not really expecting people to read this, and even if they do, they'll have no idea who I am, which makes this rather safer than not). This morning...
   This morning I made myself get up at six forty-five (or -six), instead of staying in bed for a while (which is getting easier to do as I'm becoming more tired). I went out and sat on the couch, and was given an assignment--either by God, or by my imagination; it could be either. I was told to "Be Still."
   Have you ever tried doing that before? Because it's hard--not meditation, just a time of listening, of quieting your thoughts and disciplining them enough that they're focused on feeling, listening, breathing, and waiting--waiting on what, I'm not certain. It could be waiting until someone interrupts you, till your sister's alarm goes off and scares you to death, or till you're relaxed and rested. Or till you can hear things you couldn't before. The last one scares me, because, in that realm, I have no way to measure what is right, what is wrong, what is silly, and what is true--which means I'm living on faith that, if something happens, God will also show me whether it's right or not. Not something I'm exactly comfortable with, but not something I can rule out, either.
    Anyway, this morning was a failure, in some ways. I tried--and failed. And tried--and failed. And tried--etc. Partly because I'm tired, and mostly because I'm bad at it. I got up, mentally apologizing in my mind to God, telling Him I'm bad at it and I'm sorry.
   I almost got the impression that He smiled, and said "Don't worry--you'll practice."

Which, if He really wants me to be still, makes all the sense in the world--but it also means work. And more failure. I don't. Like. Failure.
Which probably means this is good for me, at least in the area where my pride rules. And it is probably a good discipline exercise.
Blah.
All right, God. Here we come--help me, please?