Full moon on a silver sea. Shadows throwing into sharp relief the luminous rocks. I sat in the antique rocking chair by the window, a cup of hot Postum in my hand, fascinated by the undulation of great swaths of foam on the ocean, almost fluorescent in the moonlight.
Stillness. Perfect stillness. It is a very great gift, not always available to those would most appreciate and would joy in it, and often not appreciated by those who have it but are uncomfortable with it. External noise is inescapable in many places — traffic on land and in the air, sirens, horns, chain saws, loud voices and, perhaps worst fl all, creaming rock music with thundering amplification which makes the very ground shudder.
I think it is possible to learn stillness — but only if it is seriously sought. God tells us, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10, NIV). “In quietness and confidence shall be your strength” (Is. 31:15, KJV). . . .