Finding Peace

I followed my three year old out to the front yard. She happily lugged all of the books that her little arms could hold, and I carried a camping blanket. It was that special time in the afternoon, when the sun is beginning to make its downward turn, when the shadows of the full, leafy trees create cool sanctuaries in the grass: a fine time to spread out a blanket and read books.

We read for awhile, giggling over funny pictures and wild twists in toddler stories, and then the breeze blew through in the most perfect way, and we were practically overcome by how pleasant our shady refuge was becoming. We laid down on the blanket and watched the clouds race across the sky, joining in with the history of mankind as we imagined what sorts of shapes we saw there. We held hands. We talked about the day and speculated about the future, and I laughed at the precious ways that she expressed herself, so animated, not quite understanding how words fit together to form sentences, but saying plenty anyway.

It was a small joy, this afternoon hour with Ivy. But when I think of it now I can still detect that certain stillness of soul that I get when I am experiencing true peace. I felt unhurried. I had no thoughts for the troubles of the world or the things that must be accomplished, no longing for being in another place or with a different person. I didn’t even have a wish in my mind that I was different, better, more holy, or more grateful. My mind was just quiet.

Real peace is so elusive. I often tell myself that I am at peace, that I am ready for whatever God sends. But I say this with gritted teeth, bracing myself for impact. Acceptance isn’t the same thing as peace. Resolve, too, is a different animal. I wonder how often in recent years that I have dug my feet in and held on for dear life and called that “peace.” A rare moment of real peace helps me see the difference, and it helps me to know how much more abundant life is available that I don’t seek out. Have I come to believe, in these later days, that peace looks like white knuckles, head nodding in God’s direction as I give Him leave to do what He will? Am I so busy just waiting for the next thing that will try to knock me off my feet that I have come to define peace as a tense agreement that I will trust God whatever comes?

I think that true peace is much more like the feeling of lying on a blanket with a precious, funny three year old in the shade of a lush green tree, watching the clouds dance across a brilliantly blue summer sky. God is so much nearer than I often think, and He wants to give me real peace, the kind where my mind is free to go quiet. Where my heart is tuned to His goodness. Where I can stop striving and worrying and wishing I were different. Where I can truly rest. It’s a gift of His spirit, and He knows how very much I need it.