Why Are You Here?

Good morning…

Strolling our dog down a very familiar street, a breeze picked up and this beautiful blossom floated down at my feet. I stopped and marveled at the exquisite design. Right before my eyes, this fragile flower had just switched from the process of living fully to the process of dying quietly. In one instant, one moment, I witnessed the mysterious movement of God’s gentle Spirit.

Then I thought of a short devotional touching me this week.

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DAILY MEDITATION | May 11, 2021

Be Still and Wait by Henri Nouwen

Maybe I have been living much too fast, too restlessly, too feverishly, forgetting to pay attention to what is happening here and now, right under my nose. Just as a whole world of beauty can be discovered in one flower, so the great grace of God can be tasted in one small moment. Just as no great travels are necessary to see the beauty of creation, so no great ecstasies are needed to discover the love of God.

But you have to be still and wait so that you can realize that God is not in the earthquake, the storm, or the lightning, but in the gentle breeze with which he touches your back.

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God was in the gentle breeze freeing this tiny blossom from a high branch above me. Surprised by the fascinating flower, I stopped to wonder, “How is God’s Spirit touching me in this sacred moment?”

“Go out and stand on the mountain,” the Lord replied. “I want you to see me when I pass by.”

All at once, a strong wind shook the mountain and shattered the rocks. But the Lord was not in the wind. Next, there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. Then there was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.

Finally, there was a gentle breeze (or “a soft whisper” or “hardly a sound”), and when Elijah heard it, he covered his face with his coat. He went out and stood at the entrance to the cave.

The Lord asked, “Elijah, why are you here?” (1 Kings 19:11-13, CEV).

In our world there will always be chaotic events threatening to consume our full attention. But we have to be still and wait so that we can realize that instead being in the unsettling earthquake, the severe storm, or the flashy lightning, God’s presence with us is a caress on our bare skin.

Released by the soft, soundless breeze, this fallen blossom piques our attention. We hear God’s whisper. We are drawn out of our cave. We stand at an inviting entrance, expectant. As we are released into the process of living fully before dying quietly, how might we respond to the tender touch of God’s voice?