More than a Shovel

Psalm 46

Phrases that spoke to me today:
• God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble
• though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea
• Be still and know that I am God
• The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress

Applying the Word to My Life:
I have always been concerned about making appointments on time. Schedules are tight, I appreciate when people can make time to meet with me, and I want to show my respect for them and their schedules. But when the days are full and there is barely enough margin to get from one place to the next, that concern can curdle into something less charitable. I have lost my temper over it. Rushed through things I should have slowed down for. Been present in body while somewhere else entirely in my head.

One Sunday morning we were cutting it close for Mass when I walked out to the car and found snow. I hadn't planned to have to clear snow and I let my temper get to me. We got after it, got everyone loaded up, and somehow walked into church with time to spare. There was no way it should have worked out on my timeline. It did anyway.

As I was praying later, I started to realize I had been angry because I wasn't making my timelines. But there was something more underneath it — was I the one who got us there, or was I just the one holding the shovel?

The psalmist is not writing about snow. But he knows the same feeling from a much bigger scale. The earth is giving way. The mountains are falling into the heart of the sea. The waters are roaring and foaming. And the response is not to pretend none of it is happening — it is to say: God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear. The foundation hasn't moved. Everything else has. But not that.

The psalm builds to the line everyone knows: Be still and know that I am God. The Hebrew word underneath it — raphah — means something closer to letting the hands go slack, releasing the grip. The same word a soldier would hear when the battle is over and there is nothing left to fight. God has just made wars cease, broken bows, cut spears, burned shields with fire — and then: raphah. Stop. You don't need to hold this anymore. I am God. The knowing comes after the letting go, not before.

I learned a version of this during a season when I was carrying two jobs at once. Every day had more on it than I could finish. What I eventually landed on was a simple practice: make a list each morning, work through it with a different prayer underneath — guide me to complete the things you want me to do today — I leave everything else to you. At the end of the day, whatever was left stayed there. I had done what I could. The rest belonged to God.

That is what "be still" actually looks like in practice. Not the absence of effort. It is the release of the outcome. The list does not change. What changes is who is responsible for what gets done and when.

Am I willing to trust God to get me where He needs me, or am I going to keep trying to do it on my own?

My Response for Today:
Today I will make my list and release what doesn't get done.