Refuge for a Restless Heart

Some mornings, fear slips in before the coffee’s even brewed. She's quiet, sneaky, like fog rolling in off the Atlantic. But Psalm 46 doesn’t whisper comfort; it declares it. God is our refuge, our strength, and our very present help. Not someday help. Not “once He gets around to it” help. Right now, boots on the ground help.

When I let those words settle in, they slice through the noise that tempts me to panic. A refuge is a place you run when the world gets loud. Strength is what holds you up when your knees give out. And a very present help? That’s the God who doesn’t flinch at all my mess. He isn’t half-distracted. He leans in. It fills out my understanding of Him, not as a distant overseer, but as a Father who’s right here, steadying my shoulders like, “Breathe, Missy. I’ve got you.”

Then comes that line we love to quote but rarely live: “Be still.”

Stillness doesn’t mean passivity, laziness, or throwing our hands up like, “Well, guess I’ll just hope for the best.” Not even close. It means quieting the frantic scrambling of our souls long enough to remember who’s actually in charge. It means saying no to the inner chaos that tries to convince us we’re alone.

And why is it so hard? Because stillness requires trust. Real trust. The kind that hands the reins back to the Lord and resists the urge to grab them every five minutes. Stillness forces us to face our fears without numbing or outrunning them, and that takes courage.

Psalm 46 reframes everything for me. Instead of seeing trials as proof that I’m failing or forgotten, it reminds me that the ground can shake, the mountains can cave, and the waters can roar—but God does not move. My circumstances may howl like a nor’easter, but He stands in the middle of the storm, unbothered, calling me to anchor myself in His unshakable presence. I don’t have to pretend the storm isn't real. I just have to remember it’s not sovereign.

So here’s one practical way I’m leaning into God as my refuge this week:
When the fear rises, whether it’s about my kids, my future, or the quiet ache I carry as a single mama, I’m stopping right then and there, taking one deep breath, and whispering, “You are my refuge.” Not a long prayer. Not a polished one. Just a quick reorientation of my heart toward the One who holds it.

A small habit, but a powerful one. Like striking a match in the dark, a tiny flame, the whole room shifted.

And that’s the beauty of Psalm 46: God doesn’t ask me to be fearless. He asks me to be still, to remember who He is, and to run, stubbornly, repeatedly, back into His arms.

Prayer

Lord,
You are my refuge when the world shakes, my strength when my courage runs thin, and my ever-present help when fear tries to take the wheel. Teach me to be still—not to give up, not to check out, but to quiet my soul long enough to remember Your power and Your goodness.

Settle my spirit when the waves rise. Remind me that You are unmovable, even when everything around me feels fragile. Reframe my fears, my trials, and all the unknowns through the lens of Your faithfulness.

This week, draw me back to You again and again. When my heart starts racing, pull me into Your shelter. When my thoughts spiral, anchor me in Your truth. And when the darkness presses in, whisper Your steadying love over me until peace returns.

Thank You for being near, for being mighty, and for being patient with me.
Hold me close, Lord, and make my life a quiet testimony that You are enough.

Amen.