Zabenthung Dominic

The world is loud. It pulls, it rushes, it drowns the soul in an endless tide of noise. There is always something to do, somewhere to be, something to fix. And yet, in the midst of it all, there is a voice: not shouting, not demanding, but whispering with certainty: 

“Be still and know that I am God.” 

Stillness. It is not just the absence of sound but the presence of Someone. And so, I step into the hush of the chapel, where the golden glow of the Blessed Sacrament waits like the steady light of a lighthouse in a restless sea. Here, time slows. The weight I did not even know I was carrying begins to slip from my shoulders. I do not have to perform. I do not have to prove anything. I do not have to be anything but present. 

I kneel. I breathe. And I listen. 

At first, the silence is intimidating. My thoughts still swirl like leaves in the wind. My heart still longs for answers, for clarity, for control. But slowly, gently, the stillness does what only stillness can do, it untangles me. It unknots the tension in my soul, whispering that I was never meant to hold everything together. 

And then, I feel it. 

A presence. Not distant, not abstract, but near. Closer than breath, softer than a sigh, deeper than the deepest ache in my heart. He is here. Not just in the golden monstrance before me, but in the very core of my being, filling every hollow space, every quiet longing, every question I never dared to voice. 

In this stillness, I come to know – not in theory, but in reality – that He is God. The God who does not demand my perfection, but my surrender. The God who does not rush me, but waits for me. The God who does not stand above my struggles, but steps into them with me. 

The world outside will keep spinning. The noise will return. But something in me has shifted. I do not need all the answers, I do not need to see the whole path ahead. I only need to know this: He is God. And I am held.

AND THAT IS ENOUGH.