A Reflection on Stillness

There was a day in 2020 or 2021, during the COVID-19 pandemic, when I drove

myself to Karura Forest and walked 5km on my own. No company, no music, no

distractions. Just me, my thoughts, and nature. I can’t remember exactly what

was happening in my life around this time – other than the shared universal

feeling that life was collapsing around us – but I remember feeling like I was

drowning and I couldn’t catch a break. This walk was my attempt at fixing that.

At some point during the walk, I remember all my thoughts and worries emptied

from my mind. All I could hear was a voice ringing in my head telling me to “be

still.” I started singing to myself, over and over, “Be still and know that I am

God.” I even started crying.

I didn’t meet anyone on my walk through the forest on that day, which is just as

well, because I can only imagine what sort of image I would have painted. A

young woman sobbing, singing, and talking to herself. Whatever the case,

those tears were cleansing, and when I finally got back to the car for my drive

home, I felt like I had finally crested the waves and could breathe again. I left

Karura feeling healed and much lighter.

As a child, I was always writing and drawing on my arms. It’s a habit that drove

my mum mad and which I’ve not quite managed to shake off even now. So it

should come as no surprise that in 2023, a few years later and a few years

lighter, I got the words “be still” tattooed on my forearm as a reminder to

myself.

As I write this, I’ve just come from a hellish day at work – one of those days

where it seems that everything that could go wrong is going wrong, and

everyone is out to upset you. I was very angry at one point during the day and

decided to take a break and listen to a prayerful meditation. It’s like God knew

exactly what I needed in that moment because the focus of my chosen

meditation was on the importance of that phrase – be still. By the time I finished

my 15-minute meditation, I returned to my desk feeling much calmer and more

at peace.

Just like with my walk through the forest, the reminder to be still didn’t

miraculously solve any of my problems, and it didn’t magically show me the way

forward. It helped me know that, however I decided to move forward, I would be

doing so in a way that is true to me.

Over the years, from 2023 to now, I’ve had many moments where I’ve had to

remind myself – or be reminded – to be still. Taking this pause has happened in

myriad ways: stepping back from a situation, shutting down the computer,

putting my phone down, taking a five-minute break for water or a one-hour nap,

or a week-long holiday.The stillness has sometimes involved movement: going for a walk, or to the

gym, or biking or cycling.

It has involved being around others, and even more so, taking time for solitude.

It has involved prayer.

Sometimes a loved one has gently reminded me, other times life has given me a

rude awakening and forced me to be still. I look at the major moments of grief

this year: burying my two beloved grandmothers within six months of each

other, as well as my cherished uncle’s period of illness and eventual death and

burial, as moments where life forced me to be still. There was also a period of

two-ish months where I was in and out of the hospital, culminating in a major

surgery that kept me home for a month. That too was stillness.

Some of my favourite verses from scripture that I often turn to for comfort,

prayer, or reflection are about stillness. “Be still and know that I am God.”

(Psalms 46:10) and “The Lord will fight for you; you need only be still.” (Exodus

14:14).

As I step into 2026, I choose to be still—again and again—so that no matter

what storms may come, I can always find my way back to myself and to God.

SNW