“Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10, NKJV)
Stillness.
It feels almost unnatural in today’s world, doesn’t it? We wear busyness like a badge of honor, convinced that our value is measured by how much we can cram into a day. The world around us is loud — opinions, pressures, expectations, fears. Silence feels uncomfortable, like something is wrong.
But then we come to the command in Psalm 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God.”
Notice, it’s not a suggestion. It’s not a comfort phrase. It’s a command from the mouth of the Almighty. He is not asking us to be still because He needs quiet — He’s asking because we do.
Being still is not the absence of activity; it’s the presence of intentional trust. It’s stepping back from the frantic pace of life and remembering who is really in control.
This takes me to one of my favorite passages — 1 Kings 19:11-12. Elijah, the bold prophet of God, finds himself worn out, hiding in a cave. Fearful. Burned out. He had seen the fire of God fall from heaven, witnessed miracles beyond imagination, but now? He’s alone and desperate for God to speak.
And God does speak. But not in the way Elijah (or we) might expect.
“Then He said, ‘Go out, and stand on the mountain before the Lord.’ And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice.” (1 Kings 19:11-12, NKJV)
God could have spoken through the storm. Through the earthquake. Through the fire. But He chose the whisper.
Why?
Because whispers draw us close. Whispers require attentiveness. You can hear a shout from across a field, but a whisper?
You have to lean in.
Focus.
Quiet yourself.
What if the breakthrough we’ve been begging God for is already there, tucked inside His quiet whisper? What if, in the chaos of our own making, we’ve been missing His gentle call to trust Him more deeply?Here’s the hard part: stillness feels risky. It feels like surrendering control (because it is). But in that surrender, we discover the deep, unshakeable knowledge that He is God. Sovereign over the winds, the earthquakes, the fires — and yes, even the silences.
Let me ask you this, and I’d love to hear your reflections:
What does “being still” practically look like in your life today?
And maybe, just maybe, is there a whisper from God you’ve been too busy to hear?
Let’s encourage each other in the comments below. We’re all learning to listen.
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