Four year old Ivy wants to dance in church. As the pastor’s wife, I’ve been in the habit of sitting on the front row for many years now, and when those guitars get going and that little preschooler starts to want to twirl and kick, well, I spend a good portion of the service talking her down from putting on a mighty fine performance at the front of the church.

I grew up a straight-laced Baptist girl, and while we were not the no-dancing Baptist types, I will say that we were very much the no-dancing-in-church types. At my current age, I have no problem with kids dancing in church, but this particular darling girl would definitely not know when to quit, or when it is not quite appropriate to breakdance to “Blessed Be the Name.”

I spend 80% of my time in church and everywhere else correcting her, teaching her, saying “no,” and asking her how in the world she got the idea to do whatever wacky thing she just did. She has only been on this planet for a few years, and sometimes it shows. She has reached that point in childhood when shadows get scary. At night she has taken to asking if we could leave her bedroom door open a crack so that she sees the light better.

A few nights ago, she wanted her door opened a little wider, just so she could hear hints of the rest of the family moving around after she turned out the lights. I sat down on the couch, tired, and in a few minutes I heard her singing a song she learned not long ago. “Shalom! Shalom! Peace be with me wherever I go…” She got the words wrong. The song actually is imagining King David singing to King Saul: peace be with you wherever you go. But she sings it differently. She sings it to herself, like a reminder that when she’s lying there in the dark and she’s a little bit scared, peace is available to her.

I looked up the actual meaning of the word shalom, and it means “to be complete” or “to be whole.” Every once in awhile, Ivy wants to sit with me for longer than a minute. She’ll lay her head down and really rest in my arms for a little while. Our breathing syncs up. She listens to my heartbeat like I used to listen to my mother’s. Peace falls on us. No dancing, jumping, running, shouting. No training or correcting. Just quiet. Shalom. There is a sense of wholeness there, although it is only a preview.

When Ivy is lying in her bed and the shadows start to loom over her, she wants to be in my arms. I comfort her the way a mother can. But hearing her lying in the dark singing “peace be with me” was such a sweet reminder. I can bring her a sense of peace while she’s four. I can help her feel safe. I can reassure her and convince her for a moment that monsters aren’t real. But Jesus is the only source of true and lasting peace. And He is the One who will make her whole. It’s such a comfort to know that I am not the source of peace that Ivy will rely on throughout her life.

I hope that God is already beginning to open her heart to hear His voice. Last Sunday, I held her during the singing at church. While I strained every muscle trying to keep her dancing feet off the floor, for a moment she got still and laid her head on my shoulder. Instead of singing, I whispered truths about God in her ear, talking about the music and what it meant. For just about two minutes, she remained still and listened with her ears. Only God knows if she listened with her heart. I’m so thankful that I know the Prince of Peace and that I can share Him with her. He outshines every shadow and brings the gift of true, abundant, glorious peace to those who believe.

If you see her dancing at the front of the church one of these weeks, all I can say is even King David danced with all his might before the Lord. I guess maybe breakdancing for Jesus brings her shalom at four years old, but I don’t know if I’m quite ready for that. She is glorious and wild, and I’m grateful to be her wrangler. I can’t wait to watch Him work here, in this amazing little soul that He created with care and lovingly handed to me. Peace be with her, wherever she goes.