Stillness

For several years, I lived part-time in Kenilworth, on the beautiful sloping grounds of Kenilworth Homestead. At the generous invitation of the (then) owners, my friends the Rowes, I’d bought a mobile home, immobilised it so it stood on stumps, and added a gabled veranda. It was a ‘tiny home’, I suppose.

From my veranda I could see out across the river, over the paddocks to the quiet hills beyond. In summer we all swam in the deep cool water beneath the cliff. In winter I had a spectacular view in the late afternoons, as the sun blazed in the sky and silhouetted the lacework of the crepe myrtle trees. And I walked, alone or with friends.

Kenilworth hills ( Elvira) - Copy

(Photo by Elvira White)

One of my favourite walks was along the road in the Obi Obi Valley. One calm clear  winter’s day, I set out, hoping to walk off some of the tension I’d brought back after a busy term teaching speech and drama in Nambour. Perhaps I’d get inspiration how to deal with a difficult pupil. As I walked, I breathed in the cool, grass-fragrant air. A tractor puttered nearby. Tiny wrens chirped in the long grass beside the road.

The tractor stopped. Silence. Even the wrens stopped twittering. A palpable stillness fell across the valley, as if even the air between the hills to the west and the east were sitting calm and quiet. The air was so still, I felt I should hardly breathe in case I disturbed the calm. I stopped walking and drank in the silence. The still air.

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(Photo by Dennis Woodford)

As I stood there, barely breathing, a scripture filled my mind. “Be still and know that I am God” ( Psalm 46:10). I felt almost as if I could touch Him. and my tension dissolved in His peace.