I have calmed and quieted my soul. ~Psalm 131:2a
In 1982 our company published the biography of a Hawaiian woman who, as a child, had contracted leprosy. Because of her popularity among her fellow Hawaiians, we decided to launch the book in Hawaii with a great media event including the governor, the mayor of Honolulu, and many other dignitaries. As the publisher, and with a voracious sense of duty, I felt an obligation to attend the festivities!
However, during the months leading up to this trip, I had not been feeling well. It wasn’t bad enough to send me to a hospital, to bed, or even to consult with my physician, but I had just felt weak, lethargic, no appetite, just blah. Finally, a few days before flying from Dallas to Oahu for the book party, I went in for some blood tests.
Early the second morning of my stay in Hawaii, my hotel telephone rang. Glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand, I saw that it was only 3:30 a.m. The voice on the other end of the phone was Darlene Tate, my secretary. “Robert,” she began, “I’m sorry to be calling you so early, but I have terrible news.”
My heart froze. “What happened? What’s wrong?” I responded, as wide awake as I have ever been in my life.
“The report came back from your doctor,” she replied. “You have hepatitis. You’re on the next flight back to Dallas.”
I have never felt such a paradox of emotions. I was relieved that no one had been in an accident but chagrined that I was sick and had to end this trip to paradise.
In twenty-four hours, I was sitting on the examining table in my doctor’s office back in Texas. “You’re going to have to go to bed,” he said, his face telling me that this wasn’t the opening line to a joke. “There is no medicine I can give you. No prescription except rest.” After a dramatic pause, he spoke again, “Robert, you’ve been running too hard. Your liver will shut down if you keep up this pace. But if you come to a complete stop long enough, your body will fix itself. No other medication will be necessary.”
I turned off the radio for the short drive home. How can I afford to stop? I wondered. Who’s going to take care of the business?
But for the next ten days, I did absolutely nothing but rest. I took no medicines. I didn’t even watch any daytime game shows on television. I just slept. And incredibly I got well. In a week and a half I felt brand-new.
Today’s psalm was written by a busy and frazzled king. Can you imagine the work of keeping a whole country in order? So David stopped. He set aside the “great” and “wonderful” things—and even his pride. And in the quiet, he felt God’s arms, like those of a compassionate mother, literally heal his soul.
This is a serious matter. Stop running, turn off the computer, set down your phone, and sit quietly. Let God touch your soul. Speak with Him. In the quiet, listen to His voice. No other medication may be necessary.