The Challenge of Being Still

 

There’s a large, comfy recliner in my living room that rarely gets used. Not because it isn’t inviting, it is, but because sitting still has never come easily for me. I’m usually busy doing something: tidying the house, moving from one task to the next, staying in motion. But every now and then, I feel myself running out of steam. That’s when I finally give in and sit down.

 

When I sink into that soft leather recliner, put my feet up, and let my body rest, something wonderful happens. I don’t fix anything. I don’t accomplish anything. I simply rest, and in that resting, strength slowly returns.

 

That image helps me understand the Hebrew word Rapha in a deeper way.

 

In Scripture, Rapha means to heal, restore, mend, or make whole. God reveals Himself as Jehovah Rapha, “the Lord who heals you” (Exodus 15:26). What’s striking is that healing in God’s economy often begins not with striving, but with surrender. Much like settling into a recliner, healing requires trust, trusting that we don’t have to hold ourselves up, fix ourselves, or keep pushing through.

 

Stillness, however, has always been a challenge for me.

 

Even as a child, I struggled with being still. During nap time at school, while everyone else lay quietly on their mats, something on me was always wiggling, a toe, a finger, a foot. I tried, but complete stillness felt impossible. That hasn’t changed much with age. So when I read, “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10), I can honestly say it’s not the knowing God part I struggle with—it’s the being still part.

 

Yet the word “be still” in this verse comes from the Hebrew word raphah, the same root as Rapha. It carries the meaning of letting go, relaxing your grip, ceasing your striving. God isn’t demanding rigid stillness; He’s inviting us to loosen our clenched fists and rest in who He is.

 

Just like that recliner supports my tired body, God invites us to rest our weary souls in Him.

 

Jesus echoed this same invitation when He said, “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). Notice He doesn’t say, “Fix yourself first” or “Work harder.” He says, come. Sit. Rest. Let Me carry the weight.

 

Healing, Rapha, often happens when we stop running long enough to be held.

 

Isaiah reminds us,

“In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength” (Isaiah 30:15).

 

Strength doesn’t always come from doing more. Sometimes it comes from doing less—and trusting more.

 

When I sit in my recliner and finally stop moving, I’m reminded that God doesn’t need me to keep everything going. He asks me to rest in Him, to let Him heal what I cannot, and to restore what feels worn thin. Even if something is still wiggling, my thoughts, my worries, my plans, He meets me there with grace.

 

Jehovah Rapha is not rushed. He heals in moments of quiet surrender. And sometimes, the holiest thing we can do is sit down, put our feet up, and let God do what only He can do.

 

Heavenly Father,

You are Jehovah Rapha, the Lord who heals and restores. You know how hard it is for me to be still, to stop striving, stop fixing, and stop running ahead of You. Teach me to rest in Your presence. Help me loosen my grip on control and trust You with what is broken, tired, or worn in me. As I come to You, weary and in need, fill me with Your peace and restore my strength. Heal my heart, my mind, and my spirit as I learn to rest in You.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.