Welcome.

When I was in boot camp, the days were long and the nights were short. As part of the military training, sleep deprivation was commonplace. I always managed to get my morning and evening prayers said, but making time to read my scriptures was difficult. When I paraded off to boot camp, I took a small set of condensed scriptures with me and kept them tucked under my pillow (except for times when hurried whispers indicated that our drill sergeant was on his way to conduct an inspection, at which time I hastily moved them to my locker).

At night when it was dark and everyone was asleep, I’d pull my flashlight out and under the covers, read a few verses. This worked for only a few nights. I had to lay the practice aside when I got caught.

I was distraught. My soul needed those words. My heart received both strength and courage from them, and I couldn’t do without them. I began sneaking the Book of Mormon into the bathroom stall with me at night time. I’d sit there for a few minutes and pour over a few verses. I got caught there, too, but I kept the practice up and most days, had the joyful jubilation of spending about two minutes in bathroom stall solitude in His restful presence.

And it renewed and strengthened me for the challenges and swears and chew outs of the day.

Even there in that bathroom stall, I found rest in His presence. He met me there in those holy moments, because He knew it was one of very few places I could go to find Him, to feel His presence, to partake of His love and peace.

He met me where I was, and I’ve never forgotten His generosity in that space and place.

And once when an incoming improvised explosive device was shot into  base and the deafening sounds of the siren were ringing in my ears as I was running in full armor to the cement shelter, I felt His presence. While I ran, I talked with Him, and together we weathered that. Rest in His presence in a cement barricade.

And under my cot, too, when I had to shelter in place there on occasion as my comrades and I waited for reports of casualties. Surrounded by death, disability, and the horrors of war, I felt safety in His presence. It didn’t much matter whether He would call me to His home or let me return to mine. His presence was not just a gift to be received later. It had come already.

As I hugged and kissed the little Pakistan girl in the back of the ambulance, I felt a streak of His presence settle there. My shaky voice expressed the desire of my heart: that I could have worked a miracle to give back her amputated leg, the one she had asked, through an interpreter, to be restored to her the day prior. I could not, I explained, but there was One who not only could but would. She had the promise of restitution and resurrection, the regifting of that limb which was taken of no fault of her own, that she lost because men seek power, greed, and wickedness over God and His holy causes of truth . Because of Him, she had the assurance of a perfectly whole body in a coming day. After a lifetime of mortal hardship, it would be an unmatched present from an unmatched Presence.

There is rest in His presence, for His presence is the rest.

I have always loved the story of the woman with the issue of blood as told in the Bible. I love what she said within herself prior to reaching for Jesus:

“…If I may but touch His garment, I shall be whole.”

(Matthew 9:21)

“If I may but touch.”

Those are “seeking to be in His presence” words. That is a declaration of incredible faith in Christ.

“I shall be.” It seems to me that she had received an impression (and believed it) from the God who testifies of all truth that her wholeness would be granted if she could only touch Him.

Close enough to touch. And so she reached.

A moment in His presence.

Forever changed.

There is rest in Christ. There is peace in His presence. There is hope in His space, trust in His grace, joy in His renewal. It’s real. It’s really real.

And I love that it is.

Unto all the world: there is rest in His presence!