Finding Peace

At work this week, a friend came to me, and I could tell by her face that she was troubled. Her life has taken some unexpected turns of late. Things that once seemed clear are no longer certain. Present circumstances aren’t at all what she envisioned for this stage of her life. Understandably, she has questions of why, how and when.

We talk often, and she knows about the personal burden I’ve carried for over a year. She wanted to know how I keep on going, seemingly with grace and ease. How do I keep on keeping on, despite the dark clouds looming over each step I take?

She’s a person of faith, and, of course, I told her that I still have meltdown moments, when the tears just won’t stop falling—I had one the other night. But what keeps me going, during times of heart-wrenching grief, is the Spirit of Christ living within and my unshakable faith in God's Word and his unending love for me.

I might not know why, how or when, but I do know who. And when I place myself in his hands, and when I put my trust in his Word, and I keep my mind on him—the one who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all I can ask or think; the one who promised that all things "work together" for my good—peace beyond understanding envelops my soul, and I can keep on going for another day. No, it isn't easy—total trust in God—but it is the only route to finding peace.

"You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusts in thee."

Isaiah 26:3

I'm linking with:
Grace at Home
Spiritual Sundays

Doing Nothing Refreshes and Restores

In 2002, my 20-year marriage ended in divorce. Wanting to be near family, I migrated south, put my belongings in storage and moved in with my sister until I could find work and get on my feet. It wasn’t as easy as I’d envisioned. After months of no interviews, I needed more space—physically, mentally and emotionally—so I loaded up a few things and headed to my parents’ house. It was a risky move, but something had to give.

Adjusting to life in a small town was challenging, for sure. Nothing exciting going on. Not even a fancy restaurant. Just a scattering of small businesses along Main Street, most of them locked down at sundown.

To complicate matters further, Mom and Dad aren’t your “normal” mom and dad. They have no televisions. No computers. No surfing of the web. The radio is Daddy's domain, and once the news is over, the radio is off.

In a nutshell, there just isn't much to do at Mother's house besides sit on the couch, eat lemon pie and watch logs burn in the fireplace.

Initially, I didn't do so well. I felt an inexplicable urgency to be busy. My canoe had capsized in the deep, blue sea, after all, and I needed to be doing something besides breathing and batting my eyelids. I mean, I really, really did!

Didn’t I?

No. Not really. Just the opposite, in fact.

Yes, I was drowning in a storm unlike any other, but for my own self-preservation, I needed to stop struggling, release my fears and be still for a spell. I needed to learn the art of doing nothing, you might say.

And, finally—after much kicking and screaming—I did.

I learned how to take deep, cleansing breaths, long, warm baths and slow, lazy strolls to the mailbox.

I learned how to see magic in the morning sun, dancing through the pines, outside my bedroom window.

I learned how to stare at nothing in the yard swing, while a choir of cicadas sang evening’s shadows away.

(The view from my window at Mother's house.)

I learned how perfectly round the moon is, how exquisitely detailed a sparrow is and how comforting flannel sheets are on cold Texas mornings.

In essence, I learned how to see--and not just look. How to feel--and not just touch. How to listen--and not just hear.

But above all, I learned that doing nothing clears the mind, strengthens the body and restores the spirit like nothing else can. Like a magical antidote for whatever ails you, it opens your heart to God's whisperings and focuses your eyes on things that matter most.

It puts life in perspective, you might say, so that wind-blown souls, capsized in the deep, blue sea, can sit peacefully on the couch, eating lemon pie, watching logs burn in the fireplace. ♦

“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.” Psalm 23:2-3

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I'm linking to Spiritual Sundays, where Faith Lifts are free.

Home, Sweet Home

An indescribable feeling of peace settles over me as I snuggle under my afghan in my comfy leather chair. Michael Bublé croons in the background. Coffee brews in the kitchen. A freshly-laid fire crackles in the fireplace. Home, sweet home.

How well I remember those initial post-divorce months of stumbling in the dark, wondering if I’d ever feel at home again. After 20 years of marriage, how could I set up house and start over?

I read books that spoke of brighter days ahead. My family assured me. My friends hugged me. But fear kept lurking, and tears often fell. I wanted brighter days now. I didn't want to travel the long, winding road before me. I wanted a helicopter, a way out, a miracle of vast proportions.

But, of course, no helicopter appeared. No miracle lifted me to mountain heights, where mighty eagles soar. Instead, like everybody else facing the inky darkness of the dreaded unknown, I had to walk that long, winding road as best as I could. It was the toughest assignment of my life, but with God, family and friends, I found the courage to put one foot in front of the other and move forward—inch, by tedious inch; mile, by tedious mile.

Seven years later, life isn’t bump-free—I still inch forward on occasion. But no matter how bumpy the road or foggy the trail, coming home brings blessed relief.

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Thank you, Father, for guiding me each day. Your provisions amaze me. Your mercies restore me. Home is sweet because of you.