Anything but Peace

As I was thinking about peace, I found myself very aware of how not peaceful I was feeling. At one point I even thought, Maybe I’ll just skip ahead to joy.  Most of the time, I have my posts written long before the Monday deadline I give myself—but not this one. My mind chased everything except peace.  Eventually, I spread out all my notes and reference materials, sat down… and watched the Chiefs—which, this year, has brought fans anything but peace.  And as I sat there, a common thread began to form. Water.  I know, it sounds so strange.  And then when I really thought about it, I realized I had been pondering peace for weeks—in the form of a song. “Peace Be Still” had been looping in my mind, wave after wave.

I don't want to be afraid
Every time I face the waves…
Peace be still
Say the word and I will
Set my feet upon the sea
’Til I'm dancing in the deep…

This morning as I sat in the waiting room of my doctor's office, the words finally began to pour out and I knew just what I needed to write.  Growing up in Kansas, storms are a part of life. I remember one in particular. My mom had to go to an appointment in St. Joe, so I stayed with my grandparents at the farmhouse. It was always fun to be there—unless Grandma cooked cow tongue or cow brains for lunch—then maybe not as fun.  That day a storm rolled in. My grandparents had a huge dining room window with a seat underneath it. Whenever I missed my mom, I’d sit there and watch for her fancy white Buick with the sunroof to come down the hill. I remember sitting on that bench and as the clouds darkened, my worry grew. She wasn’t back yet.  Finally, Grandma suggested we go to the basement. No tornado sirens back then—you trusted your gut. As we went downstairs, all I could think about was my mom in that storm and my grandpa who hadn’t come in from the field yet.  I still remember the moment hearing the door open and my grandpa appeared—soaked, safe, and a sight of pure relief. But still no mom. Later she told her own version of the story, including the hail pounding on that beloved sunroof. All I cared about was that she came back safe.

Our lives are full of storms—some we walk into head-on, others we try to dodge. But we are never left without shelter. We serve a God who is greater than the storm, who promises a peace that doesn’t depend on calm weather or quiet circumstances.  Music has always been a lifeline for me, and the song “Oceans” is one I return to again and again when life feels unmanageable. A devotional I read recently said, “Sometimes Jesus calms the storm, and sometimes He calms our hearts.” (Too Blessed to be Stressed, Debora M. Coty).  I forget that sometimes. It would be easier if hard things never showed up at our door—but that isn’t the reality of this life. Often, our storm becomes part of our witness. Sometimes we have to face the storm to truly understand God’s magnificence.  I’ve learned that the times I feel the least peace are often the times I’ve drifted from my core values. Yet God meets me with grace—again and again. He hasn’t failed yet, and He won’t start now.

You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown where feet may fail…
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine.

Mark Batterson writes in In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy Day that “God is in the business of strategically positioning us in the right place at the right time.” Even in storms. Even in deep waters. Even in the moments when peace feels far away.  So in this season of Advent, I hope you’re able to keep your eyes above the waves. And when you can’t, remember—there is rest in the Savior. Not just at Christmas. Not just on calm days. Always.