Quiet, Shield, and Grace

Psalm 18:2
The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my savior;
my God is my rock, in whom I find protection.
He is my shield, the power that saves me, and my place of safety

After flipping through a variety of scriptures last night (I read Obadiah, a bit of Song of Solomon, some tidbits from Isaiah...) I paused as I encountered and was drawn in by this passage. God has been speaking to me over and over again lately about Himself as my source of life, protection, safety. The word "shield" has often come up (in words from friends, and in my scripture readings), and there is a picture God gave me relating to the concept of Him as my shield, that is so powerful that I am thinking about having an artist form it into a tattoo, and having it done on my back. After reading this last night, I wrote, "Abba, I feel buffetted, surrounded, battered and weary from the struggle. I needed this tonight. I have a picture of a hollowed-out rock, a womb-like spot, warm and hidden from view, where you offer me the chance to rest and be restored. Let my heart be quiet in that space."

The sense of a quiet heart has been strong lately, catching me off guard on a regular basis. Today, on the train on the way home from work, I grabbed my journal and expressed it like this:

There is a quietness in my life lately that I don't quite understand. The usual neuroses rear their ugly heads once a month or so - usually when I'm hormonal and overly tired, and have less defenses against the irritability of daily life.

But this quietness, a sense of calm persists. And it surprises me, still, after so many years of constant turmoil under the surface.

So many days I still wake up surprised at God's healing.

May 1st, in a few short weeks, will mark a year and half since that crazy night, praying in James' car, that God intervened and healed me. The first four months or so were about the shock - waiting for the depression to return, coming to the realization of the enormity of the act of healing that God poured out on my life. The time since then has been spent rediscovering what it means to experience "normal" emotions, finding a balance of those emotions, learning to really enjoy them, experience them, bask in them.

And I still wake surprised by their intensity, but also by this quietness, the calm assurance that wasn't there before. The certainty that I am the beloved child of a God who delighted to pour his grace out over my life in an incredible act of healing and redemption.