I recently watched an episode of my favorite crime series. It’s one of those who-done-its that keeps you wondering until the final 10 minutes, and then you kick yourself because you didn’t see the clues right in front of you. The main character works through the evidence not by using years of earned intuition but by scientific analysis, ruling out irrational thoughts, and conducting experiments to determine how others would react when placed in similar situations. 

In the most recent episode, the protagonist was working on the disappearance of a young athlete. The star of the show became ill during a strategy meeting and was hospitalized. He struggled with having to be in the hospital while his team gathered and started the long process of retracing the young athlete’s steps. The main character went so far as to try to leave the hospital following surgery, only to collapse in the hallway and be rushed back to the surgical suite. He was obsessed, headstrong, and determined to push beyond his hospital gown to save the young damsel.

But somewhere between the Allstate commercial and a run to refill my bowl of Trader Joe puffs, it hit me. Our beloved protagonist wasn’t solely focused on finding the missing girl. He was protecting his well-groomed, hard-earned reputation. After all, he was well known for solving the cases no one else could solve, and nothing would stand in his way of maintaining that identity—not surgery, hospital confinement, or the need to recover. 

During his stay, he had a visit from the hospital chaplain. The chaplain asked a standard question, “How are you doing?” And our hero launched into a litany of complaints. He was a hostage in a bed while his team needed his expertise. He felt it necessary to be a part of the planning to provide direction, not chained to IVs. 

The chaplain listened for a while and then asked, are you familiar with St. Illness? Our hero looked wide-eyed, “St. Illness?” The chaplain repeated, “S t i l l n e s s,” my friend. He explained that he has seen God work best when people are forced to be still. Sometimes, being faced with a hospital stay, the loss of a job, or the emptiness that occurs with a relocation gives us a chance to shift our perspectives. It’s a time when all we have to hold on to is God.

I have had some of those moments of forced stillness. They came at times when I was least prepared, but what I found was each of them allowed me the space and time to come face-to-face with who God is and who I am not. I can remember lying in a bed, IVs running here and there, my speech blocked by a tube, but fully conscious and fully aware. It was a time when all I could do was listen. A time of forced surrender, unable to control anything that was going on in my world. It was a time that God had my full attention. I distinctly remember when I was freed from the tubes and back on my feet, a calmness encircled me. It honestly didn’t make any sense, but I knew it was because I had had a chance to listen, to be still, and know that God is who he says he is.

I wonder if you’ve ever had moments of stillness. I wonder if you’ve ever given yourself a chance to listen, not trying to control the situation, strategize solutions, or manipulate the outcomes, but instead listen. I wonder what you would find coming out the other side. Does a sense of peace and calm await you, or are you clawing at the need to regain your command? I wonder what God wants to say to you. Are you ready to listen?

The interesting thing about the protagonist in my crime drama is in the next episode, he was back to his old ways, controlling, strategizing, and in full command of his team. Anything that he should have learned in that hospital bed was gone.

It’s been years since I was hooked up to tubes, but I find myself far more in control, or should I say wanting to control, wanting to direct my life, than I did those weeks and months after my visit with stillness. But what I’m hoping is that little nudges, like my crime drama, help me remember that God is the center of that quiet peace that only comes with full surrender.

I hope in the coming days, you make time to think about the source of your peace and re-center your hope in God.

Be blessed his beLOVED,