“My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him.” (Psalm 62:5)
I love the fall and winter. Even though Northern California doesn’t get the dramatic blizzard-and-frozen-lake kind of winter, those crisp, foggy mornings and cool, rainy days are perfect for lean-in nesting mode.
Give me the warmth of a plush throw blanket and some snuggle time on the couch in front of a roaring fireplace, and I am in my happy space. Although, to be entirely truthful, we don’t use our fireplace in the traditional sense. Our “roaring fire” consists of realistic flameless candles of various heights. It requires absolutely no wood, produces no heat, and can be extinguished from across the room with a remote.
Very bougie, I know.
But it creates an atmosphere that tells the body, You can settle here for a while.
I think that is part of what I love about those moments. We gather ourselves in. We nestle beneath a plush throw while the world outside carries on without us for just a little while.
If only my inner thoughts would get the same memo.
I can be tucked beneath a blanket, surrounded by candlelight, looking for all the world like a woman who has mastered the art of tranquility, while internally I am three conversations ahead of myself, revisiting something from yesterday and wondering about something that hasn’t happened yet. Apparently, the soul does not automatically enter nesting mode just because the body does.
That is what draws me to David’s words: “My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him.” He is talking to his own soul, and I understand that. The room may be quiet, my hands may be still, but my thoughts are remembering, planning, sorting, composing, replaying—doing all the things minds seem determined to do the moment nobody gives them anything else to do.
David seems to recognize that inward stillness sometimes requires a little intention. “My soul, wait thou only upon God.” There is no long list of instructions in those words. He simply redirects his soul toward God.
We are accustomed to coming to God with something in our hands—a prayer request, a question, a need, something we want to understand, overcome, confess, or ask Him to change. Of course, He invites us to bring all of those things. But there is also something beautiful about coming to Him with nothing more pressing than the desire to be near Him. To open His Word slowly instead of searching for an answer. To pray without feeling the need to fill every moment with words. To let the mind stop reaching for the next thing and simply enjoy the presence of God.
“Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10) Those words are easy to turn into another instruction, something else we ought to become better at doing. We can be remarkably talented at turning even rest into an assignment. But stillness with God doesn’t need to become another spiritual accomplishment. Sometimes it can simply be enjoyed.
There are friendships in which silence is uncomfortable because someone feels obligated to keep the conversation going. Then there are those rare relationships where no one has to fill the quiet. You can sit together without saying much at all, and the silence itself feels companionable. I think there is something of that in our relationship with God. We don’t always have to arrive with an agenda or feel that every quiet moment must produce some profound spiritual insight worthy of being underlined three times in our Bible. Sometimes we can simply stay awhile.
That may be what my little candlelit fireplace has been reminding me of all along. I know how to make a room feel inviting. A soft blanket, dim light, a rainy afternoon, and several highly sophisticated battery-operated “flames” controlled from across the room apparently do the trick. But the deepest rest isn’t really coming from the room, the weather, or my impressive command of remote-controlled ambiance. Those things simply help me slow down long enough to remember where my soul can rest.
“My soul, wait thou only upon God.”
There are days for doing, serving, studying, asking, seeking, and moving forward. But there are also moments when it is enough simply to draw near, grow quiet, and enjoy being with the One who already knows every word before I say it. The rain can tap against the windows, the world can keep moving outside, and those candles can flicker very convincingly without producing a single degree of heat.
Nothing has to be accomplished in that moment. Nothing has to be produced. I can simply be with God.
And that is a place where the soul can settle.
If this Fireside Chat warmed your spirit and sparked fresh resolve to live what you believe, fan that flame with Scripture—“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly” (Colossians 3:16). Pull a little closer to the Light, and carry it into the week ahead.
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