And All Shall Be Well.

"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well."-Julian of Norwich 

I  write this now, in the characteristic quiet of the midnight hour. The silence catches in my throat and I feel the stillness in my bones. 

All quiet, all still. 

My roommate is sleeping; the neighbors are silent, too. A train passes, but the noise is fleeting. There is the swish of the occasional car disturbing a puddle in the road or the patter of pedestrian feet across the damp ground, but, save for that, the world is dark and hushed. 

All quiet, all still. 

But my soul is not. 

Yesterday night my thoughts kept me up into the wee hours. I tossed and  turned in my bed, and my mind danced itself into a knot well past two. 

So why am I up again? 

The midnight stillness beckons me to think. Since Eden, the world has been, is, and will always be broken. That much has not changed. Our brokenness now is not new...we remain the same and so does the world. We are sinful, hateful, prone to wander from God. We are deceitful creatures. We claim to be all-loving, and then we whip around and kill, steal, and destroy. 

All quiet, all still. 

Knowing this, my heart is troubled. My soul is troubled, too, and my innermost being sees the depths of my own heart and is disgusted by the human ugliness that lies within. 

I am anxious. I am a weak, frail child, and I cry at the first sign of trouble. The water of my life is deep, the shore is rocky, and the storm tonight is powerful. I moan, and cry out "Abba! Abba!" In my weakness, I somehow think my Father has forgotten me. 

All quiet, all still. 

I believe that God is omnipotent, able to work miracles and create incomprehensible beauty. I believe that God is omniscient, aware of all my thoughts and knowing all things. I believe that God is omnipresent, His spirit in my heart and with me always.

And yet, still my soul bumps along in the relentless storm, a frigate at the mercy of this merciless world. 

And so, I am afraid. And so, I am restless. And so, I am troubled. 

Like the disciples on the boat with Jesus, I cry out in fear, "God, don't you care if I drown?

All quiet, all still

God's power isn't limited by the capacity of human comprehension, nor is He limited by the very practical box that we neatly sort Him into. He is in control, even if we'd like to decide He isn't. 
His living spirit dwells in us, and we are made in the likeness of His loving image. 

Even in my failing, in my anxiety, in my deepest troubles and my angst during this quiet midnight hour, God can press His peace on my soul. In my little living room, at this very spot at my cluttered desk, God is with my soul. 

Even is my heart doesn't understand it, and my mind believes it to be impossible, my soul still knows very, very well. 

"And all manner of thing shall be well." 

I must repeat it till I remember it. 


All quiet, all still. 



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about me


Zoe. 22. Christian. Oregonian at present, Washingtonian at heart.
Always-wanderer, old book-collector, and coffee enthusiast.