Be Still
This story is inspired by a sermon at Crossroads Grace Church in Manteca, Ca
Click Here for the worship service.
Before the First Step
The morning arrived the way it always did—too fast.
Eli Parker woke to the sound of his phone buzzing on the nightstand, the alarm rattling against the wood like it was impatient with him. He didn’t open his eyes right away. He reached out blindly, silenced it, and lay there staring into the dimness behind his eyelids.
Another day.
The thought wasn’t heavy, exactly—but it wasn’t light either. It carried weight the way unfinished things do.
He swung his legs out of bed and sat on the edge, elbows on knees, hands dangling uselessly. His calendar was already full before the day had even begun. Meetings. Deadlines. Calls. Decisions. Plans for the year that felt too big for his chest.
Everyone kept asking the same question.
“So what are you doing this year?”
Eli didn’t know how to answer it anymore.
He shuffled into the kitchen, brewed coffee, and stood staring out the window while it dripped into the pot. The sun was just beginning to rise, painting the sky in soft blues and pale golds. For a moment, something in him wanted to stay there—quiet, unmoving—but his phone buzzed again. A notification. Then another.
The moment passed.
By midmorning, Eli was already behind.
He moved through his tasks like a man trying to outrun his own shadow—emails answered halfway, conversations half-listened to, prayers spoken without pausing long enough to hear if anyone answered back.
God felt distant these days. Not gone—just quiet.
And Eli didn’t know what to do with a quiet God.
Later that week, Eli found himself driving down a road he hadn’t planned to take.
It happened accidentally. A missed turn. A wrong assumption. The GPS recalculated, sending him through a stretch of countryside he rarely saw anymore. Fields rolled out wide and unhurried, fences leaning with age, trees standing like patient witnesses to time.
He slowed without realizing it.
At the edge of the road stood a small, weathered sign: STILLWATER RETREAT – OPEN
He passed it.
Then stopped.
The car idled as Eli stared at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked tired. Not the kind of tired sleep fixes—the kind that settles in the bones.
He reversed.
The retreat center was simple. No flashing signs. No schedules posted on the door. Just quiet. The kind that felt uncomfortable at first, like walking into a room where everyone suddenly stops talking.
A woman greeted him inside. Older. Kind eyes. No rush in her movements.
“You look like someone who’s been running,” she said.
Eli almost laughed. Almost.
“I don’t even know why I’m here,” he admitted.
She smiled gently. “That’s usually the right reason.”
She handed him a small card before walking away. On it were only three words, written plainly:
Be still. Begin there.
They asked nothing of him that afternoon.
No lectures. No long prayers. Just silence.
Eli sat on a wooden bench overlooking a pond so still it mirrored the sky perfectly. Five minutes, they said. Just five.
At first, his thoughts were louder than ever.
What about the emails?
What about next month?
What about the plan?
What if I fall behind?
What if I fail?
Silence felt like doing nothing—and doing nothing felt irresponsible.
But then something strange happened.
His breathing slowed.
His shoulders dropped.
And beneath the noise, he sensed something steady. Not loud. Not demanding.
Present.
A verse rose in his mind—not shouted, not forced.
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
Eli realized something then that unsettled him more than his busyness ever had.
God hadn’t been silent.
Eli had been too busy doing to notice who he was supposed to be.
That night, Eli stayed longer than planned.
He walked the paths slowly, listening to gravel crunch beneath his feet. The air smelled like pine and damp earth. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t trying to solve anything.
He was just…there.
And in that stillness, a truth unfolded gently, like a sunrise rather than a lightning strike.
God did not begin with instructions.
God began with identity.
Before Moses went to Pharaoh, he stood barefoot on holy ground.
Before David wore a crown, he learned to be a shepherd.
Before Jesus began His ministry, He spent time alone—and heaven spoke: “This is My Son.”
Being always came before doing.
Eli had reversed the order.
The next morning, before leaving, Eli asked the woman one question.
“How do I carry this back with me?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“Choose five minutes,” she said finally. “Not to fix. Not to plan. Not to speak. Just to be. God will do the rest.”
The world didn’t slow down when Eli returned.
His calendar was still full. His responsibilities were still waiting. The noise was still there.
But something in him had shifted.
The next morning, before his phone, before his coffee, before his lists—Eli sat in a chair by the window.
Five minutes.
At first, nothing happened.
Then everything did.
He noticed the way light spilled across the floor. The sound of birds. His own breathing. He whispered a simple prayer—not a request, not a promise.
“Here I am.”
And in the quiet, something settled deep in his spirit:
You don’t need to rush to prove who you are.
You already belong.
Stand still. I will show you where to go.
Eli didn’t receive a map for the year.
He received something better.
Peace.
Weeks passed.
Eli still planned. He still worked. He still moved forward.
But now—he paused first.
Five minutes a day became sacred ground. A place where he remembered who he was before deciding what he would do.
Some days were quiet.
Some days were emotional.
Some days felt empty.
And some days, God spoke—not loudly, not urgently—but clearly enough to guide the next step.
Eli learned something important.
Stillness wasn’t the absence of movement.
It was alignment.
When he chose to be—to rest in who God said he was—his doing found its direction.
By the end of the year, people noticed.
“You seem different,” they said.
“More grounded.”
“More at peace.”
Eli smiled but didn’t explain.
Because the truth was simple.
He had learned to stand still before stepping forward.
To listen before acting.
To be before doing.
And that changed everything.
Application
Before you begin this year—
before the plans, the goals, the resolutions—
stop.
Be still.
Give God five minutes each day.
Choose silence.
Listen.
Let Him remind you who you are.
Because if you never stop to be who God says you are,
you’ll never know where you’re meant to go.
Stand still.
Then step forward.
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